So Long and Good Night
by HelenaUrie
Summary: So... welcome to the first fic I ever wrote. It's from a while back. : The story of Gerard Way, aka Party Poison. After a barely successful mission, Poison becomes an experiment of the evil BL/ind and is transformed into a vampire... : Dark. NOT Frerard (sorry!) : I DO NOT OWN THE LYRICS/CHARACTERS PRESENTED IN THIS FIC. My Chemical Romance has all rights.
1. Party Poison

_When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city, to see a marching band. He said, "son when you grow up, will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?" He said, "Will you defeat them, your demons, and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? Because one day, I'll leave you, a phantom, to lead you in the summer, to join the Black Parade."_

Year: 2019. Location: Unknown desert of California.

Name: Gerard Arthur Way, aka Party Poison.

In the vast, scorching deserts of California, Poison stood tall as a leader of the Killjoys, and a "Child of the Gun". He often wore a tight, dark blue jacket, skin-tight jeans, and a pair of dirty black gloves, although out in the desert, a yellow mask would cover the upper region of his face, making only his hazel eyes and unsmiling mouth visible. Sometimes a large helmet would be preferred instead, or, in the case of cruising down the never-ending highway at 100 miles per hour, stylish sunglasses that hid his eyes. A yellow gun would always be close by, and a cigarette usually dangled from his mouth. His blazing red hair made him easily identifiable among the rest of the Killjoys, though it was his toughness and bravery that made him a leader in this unforgiving place. However, though he was deemed a mighty hero (for the Killjoys, at least), he would rather consider himself to simply be some cool, fabulous motherfucker in a not-so-cool-and-fabulous desert. Perhaps all this "hero" tale was a bit ironic, since when he was still some dumbass teenager that scared the shit out of everyone, he had safely assumed that when he grows up, he wanted to be nothing at all. (Back in high school, he couldn't swim, he couldn't dance, and he didn't know karate, which was why he thought he would never make it, thus giving up his hopes so early on.)

Before his and many others' exile into this shithole, there were better times; times when the world was not brainwashed by the Better Living Industries, times when Australia still existed on Earth, when the BL/ind didn't take control of almost every average person's life... Times when a small amount of people didn't have to find refuge in this lonely, hostile desert located somewhere in California, and risk their lives trying hide from constant Draculoid attacks.

Happier times. But as the BL/ind rose, there became nothing but war and turmoil, and after that, complete control from the central Battery City.

Run, run, bunny, run! Quickly flee from the harsh reality, because... well, now the happy times are over. Better Living Industries, aka BL/ind, a mega-corporation located in Battery City, is taking over innocent people's lives and changing them into emotionless robots by feeding them drugs that negate their emotions. A few years earlier, war had broken out between them and some "Dead Pegasus" located in Australia, and the war ended in devastation as the Better Living Industries stripped away all the resources on the East Coast, and ultimately defeated destroyed the Australian organization. Due to the destruction the BL/ind created, Poison, along with some others, resorted to the desert, one day hoping to fight back and save this messed-up world.

Barely managing to get by, the few people formed a group called the "Killjoys". Most of them rebelled against BL/ind with open gun-fights, while others were responsible for keeping on the lookout, and stealing food and supplies from BL/ind. (BL/ind vending machines, all randomly scattered throughout the desert, are apparently very easy to hack.) Of course, a few select Killjoys did all jobs. Yes, the food tasted foul and appalling, but hey, it's better than nothin'. The group usually roamed when the sunlight died, since everyone had to hide their bodies from the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, the unit of BL/ind responsible for tracking taking down the Killjoys.

In these danger days, they were guided by Dr. Death Defying, a pirate radio DJ. Bearded and often with sunglasses and a bandanna on, his sidekick is the rollerblading Pony Boy. In the ranks, the most renowned among the small group of elite Killjoys are the four best friends, Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid (who also happens to be Poison's younger brother), and Jet Star. They were rock-'n-rollers, crash queens and motor babies, and often drove their dusty and worn car at dangerously high speeds on the highway, cranking up the music real loud. The four of 'em used to be a group of simple losers from New Jersey, but _fuck it_ , they're now the famous (in a negative way to some, in a positive way to others) and fabulous "Children of the Gun". They don't have heroes, cause all their heroes are dead. Now, they are the kids from yesterday.

The foursome's known to be expert exterminators of Draculoids (the loyal minions of BL/ind), and famed criminals of the mega-corporation. Well, they didn't care; 's long as they're alive, nothing's gonna stop them from being rebels. After all, they've already sworn to rather go to hell than be in BL/ind's "purgatory". Being accomplished at killing them Dracs, they were frequently on missions, with their current one being to get back The Girl, who has been captured by BL/ind.

Poison had a lover named Helena, and out here in the desert, if you didn't know that, you ain't a Killjoy. Though the somewhat poker-faced and sun-tanned man never really smiled much (unlike Jet Star and Fun Ghoul) (hey, c'mon, Kobra Kid doesn't even smile _at all_ ), Helena was somehow charmed by him. And, well… only to the surprise of a few, Gerard loved her back. She didn't have the hourglass, curved body shape that most females strive for, but Gerard preferred her this way, declaring her to be perfect to him.

Helena had no last name; she was simply Helena, and she intends it to stay that way, which is why she doesn't have a Killjoy nickname either. Nobody knows how old she is (although Dr. Death speculated her to be in her early 20's), and nobody knows her past. In fact, even Helena has no idea of how she came to be, as all she could remember about her prior to joining the Killjoys were blurry images of needles, and then someone in a white mask hitting her in the head with a heavy object. After that, it was all dark, until she suddenly woke up one day with a bunch of strangers at her side. The 'strangers' turned out to be the Killjoys.

As it turned out, Helena became loyal companion to the group, and even helped save the Children of the Gun's skins at least a couple of times. However, as her skill with laser guns are only slightly better than average, after a while she chose to stay behind instead of going on more missions. Her curly black hair was always down, and red eyeshadow accompanied her shining green eyes. She was indeed beautiful, especially when she was dressed in the red-and-black skirt that she wore when she first unexpectedly appeared at their hideout; plus, her graceful, passionate ballet dancing is just… divine. Perhaps that's why Poison was quite amused when she first asked him out.

Helena didn't go outside much (her special duties at the Killjoy hideout didn't require her to), which explains why she's paler than most. She considered herself lucky as she was not too fond of the sun, probably because it mercilessly blazed down onto the ground, baking the surroundings and sometimes even creating flames. To her, the sands were unfit for survival.

Hey, at least the Killjoys are doing rather well for such a desolate place.

Gerard was getting ready to leave with his three pals in their dirty, weathered car, when he heard a "Hey, Poison, wait!" shouted at him. Helena dashed up to Gerard and touched his hot, sweaty face, and soon Gerard had embraced Helena's warm body in his arms as the two fell into a deep kiss. Kobra Kid and Jet Star, who were waiting in the back of the car, hurriedly started an awkward conversation, while Fun Ghoul, who was giving the battered car a final checkup, smirked mischievously. After a few moments, Gerard let go and winked at Helena, then hugged her for a few more seconds before rushing for the car.

"Gotta go, my angel. I've a mission to bring The Girl back." he told her with a quick smile as he opened the door and slipped inside to the driver's seat. Fun Ghoul grinned at her with that same childlike smile from earlier, before slumping into a scratched-up car seat.

"Where are you guys going?"

"Well, they don't like who you are, and you won't like where we'll go." Came the obscure reply. Sighing, Helena waved goodbye at them as Poison started the car and cranked up the thunderous, fast-paced rock music.

 _Gonna take off all my skin!  
Tear apart all of my insides,  
When they rifle in;  
Mom and Dad think you'll be saved…_

 _They never had the time,  
They gonna medicate your lives!  
You were always born a crime,  
We salute you in your grave!_

The car turned in a perfect 180 and created a small sandstorm, then Poison hit the gas, thrust his left hand out the window in a "see ya" gesture, and drove away at top speed. _Time to kill 'em all!_

Butterflies of dread fluttered inside Helena's stomach; immediately she assured herself that the four are virtually immortal in battle. But…

Oh, how wrong was she to think, that immortality meant never dying.


	2. Just Sleep

_I hope you're ready for a firefight_ _,_ _'cause the devil's got your number tonight (they say)!_ _We're never leaving this place alive_ _,_ _but if we sing these words we'll never die!_

The foursome tore through the dimly lit building, with The Girl walking in front of them to be kept an eye on. Fun Ghoul held his laser gun in his right hand, while Poison's yellow laser gun was locked firmly on his belt. All five were extremely cautious, as they had to get out of this building fast, and they had to make sure The Girl is safe. Along the walls of the narrow hallway were rows of "WANTED" posters, each depicting a Child of the Gun and a red "X" over their faces, as well as BL/ind propaganda. The group stormed down the hallway, striding towards the entrance of the building, completely unaware of two elevators silently sliding open right behind them…

 _Footsteps. They're undoubtedly footsteps._ At the main entrance of the building, the Children of the Gun abruptly turned around, barely dodging a blast from a laser gun…

Korse's laser gun.

 _Korse._

As more blasts greeted them, the four separated to fight off the Draculoids and Korse, leaving The Girl alone in the center of the room. "Go! Run!" Poison turned around for a moment and barked at the The Girl, who stood there, frozen in shock and fear. She tried muffling the sound of laser-bullets around her by covering her ears with her hands, but that wasn't much help.

An unmasked Poison dashed between the bullets, avoiding each hit with ease. Loud echoes of ' _Pang! Pang! Pang!_ ' drowned out the hurried movements around the room. _Swish!_ Poison paused with a sudden rush of adrenaline as a bullet whizzed past him, barely missing his head. "Oh shit," he muttered to himself, a bit surprised at what could've happened. A few stray droplets of sweat embarked on a journey down his forehead, and he took a quick second to give a messy wipe with the back of his glove. He then started shooting at the Draculoids again, careful to protect himself and his four companions (especially The Girl). His wild red hair flopped around as he took down the Draculoids, one by one.

All around him, bodies were falling to the ground.

Short, tortured screams of pain ricocheted across the spacious room, quickly muted by the drugs that were taken in copious quantities to abolish even the most negative emotions and physical pains. Most were dead with their monstrous Draculoid masks still on. Poison couldn't help but blink his eyes in shock as the bodies quickly piled up on each other; still, he continued shooting, knowing he had a job to do. _This is a fucking madhouse,_ he thought to himself. _But I gotta follow the procedures._

Soon, Poison was at his brother's back. The two, facing opposite directions, continued to shoot at the attacking Draculoids, while Fun Ghoul jumped out from behind a wall and began his offensive. Spotting Korse's slow approach towards The Girl, Poison quickly strode away from his brother towards the center of the building's entrance, flinching ever so slightly as more bodies fell to the ground. The Girl continued to stand there, in complete shock. Poison started running as he became aware he might not make it in time, but suddenly, either Fun Ghoul or Kobra Kid managed to cut Korse off.

About thirty seconds passed. Poison, now against a wall, snuck up behind an unsuspecting Draculoid who was shooting at Jet Star, and managed to pull his mask off with a swift tug from his left arm. The Draculoid, now with his mask gone, plummeted to the floor, soon dead in an act of suicide. Poison shuddered for a second, staring at the ugly mask in his left hand, then glancing at the body on the ground. The face looked disturbingly familiar…

"Cherri Cola!?" Poison gasped. His mouth was dropped wide, and he inhaled in fury at his former friend's betrayal. As a bullet was shot at him (of course it missed), he momentarily waved his gun around in the air, only to unconsciously look down at his former friend again, who was now lying lifelessly on the ground. _How… dare… he…!?_

Thrown off with disbelief, Poison didn't notice the looming figure quickly approaching him. Suddenly, someone brutally shoved Poison into the wall. Poison swiftly looked up, only to meet the cold grey eyes of Korse, the killing machine of BL/ind's S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit. Korse was glaring at Poison in pure hatred and anger, his eyes gleaming with the thought of kill. Poison bravely met his gaze, and gritting his teeth together, he uttered at Korse, "you'll never take us alive!".

Korse, who was now fuming with irritation, pointed his laser gun upwards and the muzzle directly under Poison's chin, while still holding Poison against the wall with his other hand. Poison continued to stare into Korse's merciless eyes, though he realized that this was the end, that he powerless to escape Korse's iron grip, and that he would be dead in a moment. He accepted it; he wasn't afraid.

 _Goodbye, Helena, my angel. I love you._

"BROTHER!" From Kobra Kid came a deafening, horrified scream. Even though Poison was desperate to, he couldn't catch a glimpse of his brother's bright red jacket. From across the madhouse, Kobra Kid started dashing towards his older brother, only to be cut off by a bullet that almost hit him in the chest.

The coldblooded Korse, still holding his gun under Poison's chin, gave a menacing grin at his Killjoy, twisting his head around evilly as Poison could do nothing but continue to glare.

"I'm not afraid to die." Poison grunted at him, preparing for his demise. If they ever wheel him back in by gurney, maybe some would gasp, maybe some would cry, but now, he didn't care at all.

An unsurprised Korse abruptly stopped in his malicious movements. Then, he gave Poison one last twisted smirk…

 _BOOM._

There was a loud flash and a small cloud of smoke as the bullet penetrated Poison's skin and flesh, reaching its way to his jawbone.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Kobra Kid screeched, absolutely petrified at the sight of Poison's drooping head and Korse removing his gun from its original position under Poison's chin. The Girl instantly close her eyes as she did her best to hide the loud, awful bullet sound. As much as she tried to seclude herself from the scene, the young girl still winced in sadness and alarm.

Poison slowly slumped to the ground, the life escaping from his eyes as Korse chuckled in a cruel joy and satisfaction. He continued standing there, with a smirk of pride on his pale, evil face, glaring at his fallen prey.

A vaguely wincing Poison now sat, leaning against the wall, with his head limply sagged and leaning towards his right, and a bit of red hair gently brushing his shoulder. Pain seared through his body, especially in his head, like a jagged knife, but as death approached him, the throbbing pain was dimmed and quickly faded into nothing. His eyelids slid downwards, and everything turned into a blur, but he wasn't dead… yet.

He could still hear sounds… sounds of terror and anguish, torment and suffering. Perhaps a bullet hitting a nearby someone's legs as there was a strange, robotic gasp. Another body fell to the ground, and an eerily familiar voice howled in agony…

Fading footsteps, created as a small cluster ran away from him and this madhouse… Another one falling to the ground…

The warm but enormously stressed voice of a friend, screaming, "Save yourself! I'll hold them back!".

Then, as one final loud _pang!_ went off, there was nothing left for him but silence.

 _After all we've done, to our faces and our fingers, you can run but you can't hide, from this…_


	3. Thank You For The Venom!

_Or lethal injection, or swing from a rope if you dare!? Ah, nobody knows, ALL THE TROUBLE I'VE SEEN!_

At first it was only blackness. A blackness that seemed to stretch out forever, an eerie shadow that surrounded him completely. He couldn't feel, touch, or hear anything; or see, in fact. It was as if he were drifting, but it wasn't drifting, it was something else, a feeling he couldn't describe.

Then, something silver flashed out in front of his eyes for a millisecond, before disappearing into the darkness again. After that, everything started turning bloody red. Pain, excruciating agony, tore through his body like it did from the gunshot…

He felt awfully thirsty for something; it was a feeling he'd never had before. An intense desire, an absolute _need_ for some mysterious thing that he, at first, could not identify. The inexplicable "something" felt as if it were vital; it was such a severely burning sensation, as if without whatever he required, he couldn't survive.

Unconsciously, he winced as an injection needle was quickly pulled out from his body. Inside, it felt as if someone had shot lip-gloss through his veins, contaminating his bloodstream with something disgusting and alien. Whatever the injection, it was coursing through his body like a boat drifting down a fast-flowing stream.

His skin began turning pale as a ghost, and two of his beautiful white teeth started morphing into sharp fangs, digging into his lower lips… He smelled something… A sweet aroma that seemed to tug at him with tremendous might.

In that disturbing, never-ending redness, he realized what he strongly... passionately… _bitingly_ desired…

Blood.

He wanted _blood_. Blood. Gallons of the stuff.

A pair of eyelids fluttered open, revealing two crimson eyes, hungrily staring up at the bright, white lights flashing down from the ceiling.

For the first few seconds of his wakening, all he did was blink in confusion. Then, everything was a bloodstained blur. His thirst was too strong to be controlled or ignored; he _had to,_ no, he _must_ drink, it was _essential_. An unfamiliar, frenzied brain commanded him to feed on the scent of the delicious red liquid that surrounded every corner of the room.

Oblivious to his behavior and completely letting his hysterically ravenous senses guide him, he suddenly jerked up from his lying position, and leapt down from the uncomfortable metal bed. Inside his throat was a fiery, scorching pain that blazed like a wildfire, unceasingly screaming at him to feed. Everything was spinning around and he had no way to stop it, and though he somehow managed to see a few indistinct blurs, everything was still in a shade of lovely crimson.

He could dimly hear a few screeches of fear, and saw a few body-resembling blobs fall to the ground in what he assumed was shock. However, his judgement was clouded by the loud, growling pleas of his stomach. With the inferno inside his throat now violently raging, he blindly hurdled himself onto an unlucky Draculoid, seizing him firmly by the shoulders. His brain roared "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" at him, and his direct nature took hold…

It all happened in alarmingly quick yet fuzzy flashes.

With the fire burning at a catastrophic extent, he feverishly sank his two vampire fangs into the helpless, seemingly shrieking (seemingly, as he could hear pretty much nothing but a noisy ringing in his ears) Draculoid. Then, he quivered in fascination, adoring the honey-like liquid that hit his tongue.

As its internal fear defeated the drugs overflowing in its veins, the Draculoid panicked for a moment, trying to push Poison away. Poison only tightened his grip on the Draculoid's shoulders, sucking harder and harder, desperate to quench his thirst. Slowly but surely, relief and satisfaction flowed into him as the wonderful taste of blood filled his mouth and slipped down his throat…

The emotionless Draculoids simply stood there, waiting for commands from their master. None of them bent down to help the dying Draculoid; in fact, none of them were even trying to run away. They simply stood there, surrounding the predator and the prey in a large circle, holding their weapons in their hands, waiting for orders to be announced through the intercom.

Slurping by the mouthful while keeping an unbelievable pace, Poison was quite pleased with the taste of his victim's blood. His surroundings were completely disregarded, as he was too hungry to even have the slightest bit of logic. When his victim ran dry of the vital fluid, Poison gave one last gulp and shoved it to the ground, deeming the dead body useless. He briefly saw a BL/ind poster on the wall, but the sight was completely ignored by his rewired and famished brain. For a short while, his craving died down, and he gasped for air.

However, his desperate yearning soon returned, and standing up only about a minute after he had gone for the first Draculoid, Poison peered around, frantic for more. Stray dots of blood were sprayed across his face, and down from his two fangs flowed streams of liquid, which he instantly used his blood-stained tongue to lick. There was a shitload of blood smeared on his dirty jeans, and his gloves (as well as his formerly blue jacket) were tainted with the terrifying, hell-like red. With the once more ablaze inferno stronger than ever, he pinned down another Draculoid to the ground, slapped its gun out of its hand, and began his feast once more.

The unarmed Draculoid aimlessly flailed around and pointlessly screamed for help, until Poison silenced him by sucking the last drops of blood out from its body.

On the second floor and safe behind a thick glass panel, Korse stared down at the sickening scene in the laboratory, snickering in a bitter delight.

"Sir, it seems that the venom is effective. The lab rat is turning vampire," the almost-robotic voice of a Draculoid gave Korse an unnecessary report from behind.

Korse swiftly turned around to face the Draculoid. Without hesitation, he demanded, "Terminate him."


	4. Blood, Blood, Gallons of the Stuff

_So, give me all your poison, and give me all your pills! And give me all your hopeless hearts, and make me ill! You're running after something that you'll never kill; if this is what you want, then fire at will!_

"Terminate him!" The robotic voice of a Draculoid rang from the intercom.

Without warning, ten guns were immediately pointed directly at Poison. Poison looked up from his irrational feeding, quickly realizing they were going to kill him.

 _No, I still want blood… BLOOD!_ A startling voice bellowed inside his head. His hands desperately searched along his belt, only to discover the gun-holding straps were empty. _Oh, fuck. They took away my laser gun._ Poison snatched the fallen (the one that he was feeding on just a few moments ago) Draculoid's gun, and with a swift jerk of his hands, pointed it at the circle of Draculoids. Without ever blinking his crimson eyes, Poison pulled the trigger and fired shots continuously.

Two bodies immediately fell to the ground, blood spraying onto the previously clean white floor. Discovering what seemed to be an exit of the large black-and-white laboratory, Poison clipped his formerly-Draculoid gun to his belt, got up in a flash, and lifted his two victims by the arms, sliding them on the ground. As he ran and occasionally dodged, he effortlessly dragged the lifeless lumps behind him as bullets whizzed past his body, miraculously missing him. Poison grasped that he had to kill a few more of them if he were to escape; letting go of the already-dead and tugging out the laser gun from his belt, he smoothly spun around as adrenaline surged inside him (of course, he kept his cool), and managed to blast three more Draculoids to their death. He then quickly crouched down and grabbed another gun from one of his two former victims. Poison's vision was rapidly clearing up; the scarlet shade of everything had disappeared, and he could now identify distinct bodies against the white background. As bullets continued to miss him (Draculoids were _not_ known for successfully hitting targets when it came to intense fights, and a bit tragically, relied on luck to kill), Poison managed to deliver five consecutive and precise shots from the two guns in his hands, which took the lives of all remaining Draculoids in the room.

For a second, Poison was dazed at what had just happened. The echoing bullet noise stopped as nine, no, ten lifeless bodies surrounded him. His thirst for blood quieted down and rationality began to return. He stared at the crimson liquid on the floor, then peeked at his gore-tainted clothes, wondering what had just happened. A few splatters of blood decorated the far wall of the room, and the Draculoids' horrendously blank outfits were partially drenched in red.

A few guns lay on the floor, their owners now as lifeless as them.

Guns.

His friends.

 _Fun Ghoul! Kobra Kid! Jet Star! The Girl! Are they alright? Was the mission successful? Am I still alive, or am I turned into a minion too? Will I ever see Helena again!? What the_ fuck _happened to me; why am I so desperately thirsty for blood? Am I what they said in the legends… a vampire…!?_

A million questions rose into Poison's head, swelling up inside him until he felt as if he were going to explode. Finally, after a few moments, Poison realized that his priority was to make sure his friends are safe.

He wouldn't be able to know if he doesn't escape this building alive.

Hurriedly seizing another gun and clipping all three to his belt, he grabbed the two victims laying right beside his feet (for a later snack), slung them both over his shoulders with a powerful swing, and promptly marched out of the room.

Upstairs, behind the large one-way glass panel, Korse snarled in fury. "Useless scum…" he muttered to himself in utmost anger.

Boldly turning around to face his minions, he demanded in a menacing, rage-filled voice, "TRACK HIM DOWN, THEN EXECUTE HIM IMMEDIATELY!"

"Yes, sir!"

Carefully gliding his way out of the main entrance of the building, he realized that his prized car was gone. Since he had spotted no blood in the familiar battleground, Poison's initial thoughts were that his friends were safe. But before he passed out, he undoubtedly heard more bodies fall, so perhaps otherwise...?

Just when he was about to fully question his assumption, he heard sets of orderly footsteps march towards his direction, obviously from surviving Draculoids. Taking his two pieces of prey with him, Poison quickly turned to his right and around a corner, then fled down the sickeningly grey street.

After running for a while, a barely panting Poison halted at an abandoned coffee shop. He ducked down, looking around for any Draculoids that might be searching for him; the coast's clear. Dragging his two victims behind him, he sneaked into the coffee shop through the back, wary to lock the door after he was inside.

The lights were turned off, but a dim shine of sun penetrated through the shades of one of the few windows, allowing visibility. For now, Poison didn't feel thirsty for blood; instead, he sensed something else that he strongly desired.

Two things, in fact.

 _Ah, the delightful smell of coffee and cigarettes,_ he thought to himself as he relaxed his tense body. He closed his eyes, rejoicing the beautiful aroma. Then, the hypnotizing smell of blood joined in…

He dug his fangs into a victim's neck and rejoiced the liquid flowing into him. The long-dead Draculoid didn't struggle from his loose grasp; Poison was relatively pleased. Though the blood of a dead person didn't taste as mesmerizing as ones alive, it was still enough to keep him sucking until the victim ran dry. Noisily panting as he savored the satisfying taste of the delicious red fluid, Poison thought about Helena; her gorgeous, green eyes filled with fear at the news of her lover gone missing. Perhaps he should get back to her as soon as possible; he didn't want her to worry.

His thirst was quenched after he was finished with the first Draculoid. He stayed put, knowing he had a greater chance of being captured if he went outside (plus, he had no way of getting back to the desert yet). He lay the limp body onto the ground, then got up to brew some coffee. A bit to his surprise, the shop still had electricity and running water; but then, this _is_ Battery City. He turned on the coffee maker, then dumped some ground cocoa into the machine. The machine beeped, automatically filtered water into its system, and started brewing.

 _I should get back in six to twelve minutes' time._

Using his nose to guide him, the scent of cigarettes led him to what seemed like a private drawer. Unhesitant, he excitedly pulled the drawer open, hoping there'd be cigs inside.

He blinked his eyes in a festive surprise; the drawer was _filled_ with cigarettes! Hands shaking with pleasure, he greedily snatched a box out from the drawer. _Man, the amount in here is enough to last me for at least a fuckin month!_ He thought to himself, beaming at the sight before him. He found a lighter on top of the drawer, ripped the pack of cigs open, clumsily scrambled for a cigarette, and finally shoved the butt of one between his lips, lighting the cigarette up.

Poison inhaled the aroma of the smoke rising from the end of the cigarette… it felt wonderful. His coffee was ready after a short while, which the machine directly poured into a cup that was probably of proper hygiene.

Gorging down his coffee while smoking his cigarette, Poison told himself that for security, he would wait until the sun was down to return to the desert. If his thirst rises once more, he'll just drink his remaining victim, and maybe he could pass the time by cleaning off the blood on his clothes. Just that whatever he does, it had to be safe.

Other than the trivial amount of light provided by the streetlamps, pretty much everything in Battery City was dark. All the lights in the buildings were turned off; Poison assumed it was one of the rules that the unfortunate civilians had to follow. The megacity was ghostly silent; quiet enough that he could hear the soft humming of BL/ind cars patrolling out on the streets. In his hiding place, Poison occasionally heard footsteps approaching, but they never came inside the deserted coffee shop. BL/ind was obviously looking out for him, but somehow, he was still safe inside his temporary refuge.

It was late at night. He knew it was time.

As a BL/ind car gradually neared the coffee shop, Poison tiptoed out from his hideout and disappeared behind a wall, leaving his last victim behind. A pistol in each hand and a third on his belt, he impatiently waited for the low buzzing of the car engine to arrive right before him. When the car finally reached the shop, Poison swiftly turned around and gave two skillful shots at the car's front tires. The car deliberately halted with a strident, violent _screech_. For a second, Poison stood frozen in place, cautious of any other Draculoids appearing to check out the scene. After a few moments, he considered himself safe. Four Draculoids, quite puzzled at what just happened, immediately jumped out the car to check their shadowy surroundings. After a Draculoid declared there was no sign of danger and the Draculoids began to inspect their possibly "malfunctioning" car, Poison stealthily sneaked up to the unsuspecting minions. Before any of them could respond, two of the Draculoids were already lying on the ground, dead. The other two reached for their guns, but were too late.

Four lifeless lumps were thrown into the back trunk of the car; for now, Poison had no desire to feed. _You motherfuckers,_ he thought to himself. _I do my talking with a laser beam. I mean, c'mon, I blew a fuckin' hole in this town, and now I'm gunning out of this place in a bullet's embrace! Oh, and of course I'll do it again!_

Poison immediately hurried back inside the shop to grab his precious cigarettes, aware not to make any more noise and disturb the alarmingly quiet air. If he gets caught, it might take a while for him to get out of trouble. He soon stormed out of the shop, cradling a load of cigarettes and the lighter in his arms. The car doors were still open from when the Draculoids came out, so Poison dumped the load into the car without hesitation. Slipping inside and onto the driver's seat, he switched on a flicker of light inside the grossly detergent-smelling car, and located a tracker attached on the front window. Poison shot at the tracker using one of his BL/ind pistols, shattering the piece of plastic machinery in just a bit more than a millisecond. He collected the parts in the palm of his hand, and threw them out of the pretty much germless car, then examined the car once more, failing to find any other possible hazards and thus confirming it was safe. With that, he shoved his pistol back in its place with the two other guns, and then, after lighting up yet another cigarette and sticking it into a corner of his mouth, he started the car.

 _Well, that shit was easy peasy pumpkin peasy… pumpkin pie, motherfucker!_

Slamming the gas petal, he rolled down the windows to let the midnight wind wash into his face.

 _Nothing you can say can stop me going home._


	5. Lethal Injection

_Now come on, come all, to this tragic affair. Wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair! So, throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot; you might wake up and notice you're someone you're not. If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see, you can find out firsthand what it's like to be me. So, gather 'round piggies, and kiss this goodbye; I'd encourage your smiles, I'll expect you won't cry!_

A brilliant moonlight shone on the seemingly endless desert highway, where Poison drove his stolen BL/ind car at top speed. Soon enough, with his surroundings becoming very familiar, he cut off from the highway with a sharp turn of the steering wheel, then smiled to himself with pleasure.

Other than the usual bone-chilling night breeze and the scurrying of a few small rodents, the desert hideout was quiet, until…

 _SCREECH!_ The earsplitting, sudden stop of tires disturbed the peaceful silence. As gravel flung out towards many directions then quickly rained back down to the ground, a bright white car shimmered in the elegant silver moonshine. Its roaring engine was turned off only a few moments after the obnoxious shriek of rubber struck the coarse, rough sand; the car door of the driver's seat clicked open, and out stretched two blood-polished boots.

A moderately tall man dressed in a rather purple-ish jacket and skinny jeans decorated with blood emerged from the car. A faint light reflected off his bright red yet somewhat dusty hair, and small puffs of smoke drifted from his bloody mouth as he plucked out his cigarette like a feather. With a few short flicks of his wrists, he waved it around in the night air, and soon the ashes of the cig spiraled to the ground.

He looked around, and noticed the vague outline of the Killjoy camp. _I'm home,_ he thought.

 _Now, where's my brothers of the Gun?_

He knelt in front of the four makeshift gravestones, with tears welled up in his eyes. The gentle moonlight glowed on the graves, allowing Poison to read the messily etched words. On the rough, uncut stones were carved:

 _Here lies Fun Ghoul. Rest in peace, Child of the Gun. You will always be loved, and will forever be remembered as a savior._

 _Here lies Kobra Kid. Rest in peace, Child of the Gun. You will always be loved, and will forever be remembered as a savior._

 _Here lies Jet Star. Rest in peace, Child of the Gun. You will always be loved, and will forever be remembered as a savior._

 _Here lies_ Party Poison _. Rest in peace, Child of the Gun. You will always be loved, and will forever be remembered as a_ savior _._

In front of the four makeshift stones was a plank of wood, probably scavenged from one of the abandoned factories. It read: _"Rest in peace, our fallen heroes. Destroyers of the chaotic and disastrous indifference created by the BL/ind, and bringers of rebellion, freedom and feelings. Thank you, our loyal companions. In our heart, Killjoys never die."_

He knelt in front of the gravestones, frozen in devastation and anguish as he stared blankly at the sight in front of him. _They're… gone._ Just like a bullet, a pang of sadness went off in his head, and tore into his heart sharper than when he dug his fangs into his victims' necks. As a stream of tears trickled down his dusty face, the terrible claws of loss and death snatched him, violently grabbing and tugging him and trying to consume him whole. _They're… gone._

The Girl was most likely safe (as there was no tombstone), and he was still very alive (though the others assumed, with much disbelief, that he too, had deceased), but… _they're_ gone.

Poison collapsed to the ground in a hollow, brokenhearted grief, staring at the desert sand and grit, shaking his head in disbelief. _No. This can't be._

 _So long, to all my friends. Every one of you met tragic ends._

His anger and hatred merged with the sorrow and pain inside him, and the fire inside his throat ignited once more… An intensely tingling feeling, a jabbing discomfort, no, _torturous_ agony, creeped up his spine, begging for that red liquid that he savored so deeply…

Thrilled footsteps approached him from behind, and shortly he was greeted with a warm, welcoming hug. "Poison! I… I- I knew you were still alive, I just knew it… I miss you, I miss you so far-…" She whispered in his ears with a fragile voice, choking on the last word that she spoke. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes, and she leaned closer to kiss him on the cheek, but immediately stopped herself as she realized Poison's sorrow and misery. Her sweet scent drifted from her hands as she softly wiped off the sparkling tears flowing down his face. "Poison, I'm very sorry about your friends…" she paused, though stroking him with her right hand, in a loving attempt to comfort him. Turning around, he leaned in, and gave her a mellow kiss on her wrist. "I love you, my angel," he murmured with a raspy voice as he let out a sniffle. Then, he dug himself into her embracing arms, whimpering in torment and breathing in her affectionate, soothing aroma…

The fire inside his throat thrived; his crimson eyes flared into a bright, glowing red…

Boom. It finally struck him.

He passionately sank in.

Helena feebly writhed and twisted in pain, screaming desperate cries for help as Poison pinned her to the ground, the yearning for blood burning brilliantly in his crimson eyes.

"Please…! Poison, my love, please…" Panicking, Helena gasped for air, then to shriek in terror when Poison leaned down on her again. She was silenced as he switched his assault location from her neck to her lips, biting into the soft skin with ease. The mesmerizing, inexplicably yet extraordinarily wonderful taste of her precious blood trickled down his throat, and the liquid's astonishing scent filled his lungs…

Her life was draining from her, being destroyed the very person she loved the most… Aggressively, she jolted her head as she tried to reach up and grasp his bloodied face. In what seemed like a momentary realization, Poison stopped for a brief second and removed his fangs from her body. Helena sighed in relief, only to find him staring down at her with that atrocious face and those vicious, immensely starving eyes…

" _Aww,_ sugar…" As he gave a dashing yet vile smirk, two hands firmly gripped the brim of her dress, and with a brutal tearing motion from the monster's arms, the gorgeous fabric ripped apart, revealing her fine skin all the way from her chest to her stomach. Helena dreadfully tried to push him away (staining her hands with her own blood as she shoved at his right cheek), but her attempt failed miserably. Those horrifying fangs struck again, this time with even more hunger and desire than before. The two sharp daggers sadistically sliced across her upper body, all the way from her shoulder to her gut. The dying Helena screeched in absolute horror and suffering as blood violently leaked out from the severe and brutal wounds across her skin and in her flesh, flowing down her body and onto the ground. She tried to wriggle around and escape his constricted cage, but all Poison did was raise his daggers up for a moment, hiss _"I want your blood!"_ at her with a menacing voice, then viciously dive in again. As two streams of tears squeezed out from her closed eyes and further wetted the red desert sand below her, Helena continued to squeal in torment and agony. "Please! _PLEASE!_ Poison, I beg you…" She dreadfully shut her eyes as Poison _enthusiastically_ ran his mouth along the long wounds that he mauled, licking the teeming blood with his scarlet-stained tongue as his eyes glimmered in awe. _Ahhh… who knew screams could ever be so… charming? And that blood, oh, that blood! That_ marvelous _blood!_

Her blood was like cocaine. The more he had it, the more he craved it. The more he _necessitated_ it, the more he _demanded_ it. The more he wanted to conquer her, to _kill_ her.

The more, the better.

Blood spluttered out from her mouth as his addicted, quivering hands started to _choke_ her. She tried to gulp the blood back, but there was just too much of her vital fluid that was flooding out from her throat. Poison pushed his hand down harder; Helena coughed out even more of the rich, dark liquid. She flung her hands around, trying to shred him away, but no… blood kept bubbling out, until she was gagging, until she couldn't breathe. Her legs kicked around as she meagerly squeaked, squirming around almost as if she were a mouse and he was the largest lion on the entire planet Earth. No- the hungriest, most powerful vampire. _The_ vampire. She could feel his tongue, licking her face, spreading his blood-streaked saliva all over her dripping sweat.

The world was blood-shot. Then it switched to black. Then back to red. Then back to black. Before she even noticed, he was all fuzzy, so angelic and beautiful, his blood marks all gone… Just like a warm, soft cotton ball…

But the pretty little cotton ball wasn't a cotton ball. He was more like a candy-coated _beast_ , who wanted nothing but her blood, nothing but for her to _die_ so he could feed on her until she ran dry _._

Love couldn't save her now; she knew far too well that he had lost his sanity.

But as her body involuntarily spasmed, she realized that deep down, somehow, she still wished there was a slightest bit of love he had for her.

Eyes overflowing with tears, devastation, dismay, and incredulity, her shaking hands reached out one last time as she fell towards unconsciousness. She ran her bloody, quivering hands along his pale, beautiful yet monstrous face, feebly gasped for air once final time, and begged with barely a whisper, "please…"

A whimper escaped from her cracked, slashed, swelling lips.

Then, as her beautiful green eyes disappeared behind her eyelids, her arm dropped limply to the sandy ground.

An utterly petrified Poison suddenly stopped, then stared at his bloody, lifeless lover in disbelief. _WHAT HAVE I DONE!?_ She was covered in that saccharine, delicious blood. _Her blood. Blood vital for her survival._

He was… killing her. No… he had already killed her.

He gazed down upon the unmoving body lying on the ground, covered in sand, dust, and blood. _No… This can't be…_

The blood dripping down his cheeks was just as red as his hair and his crimson eyes. Looking up, he saw the gravestones of his friends… He shook his head violently with disbelief, as tears of mixed guilt, shame, misery, and anger this time fought against his thirst and brimmed his eyes. He slapped himself in the face multiple times, trying to wake up from his absurd frenzy. He couldn't feel any pain; he felt so… numb. _What have I done…?!_ He bent down once more, gently caressing her bloody wrists as the tears finally started plummeting down his face…

Wait. He… felt a pulse. He reached for the location of Helena's heart, and gently touched her skin with his dirty, trembling hands.

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

His eyes widened in disbelief as he tried to contain his joy and amazement. As he further examined Helena, he noticed her skin turning to be very pale, just like his own. Her upper canine teeth slowly erupted out from her mouth, until they were transformed into long, jagged fangs…

A small flicker of light warmly glowed in the distance. Gasping, Poison quickly (and delicately) lifted her up into his arms, and with graceful footsteps, marched to his car. He opened the doors and lay her into the soft, cushioned back row for some stretching space, slammed the door, then leapt into his driver's seat. Cranking up the engine, they soon drove away.

 _When she wakes up, we'll already be on the run._


	6. Running Away & Hiding With You

_Hand in mine, into your icy blues… And then I'd say to you, we could take to the highway, with this trunk of ammunition too… I'd end my days with you, in a hail of bullets…_

The yellow-orange, scorching desert sun of daybreak leisurely rose from the horizon, and a warm dawn replaced the dark, freezing night. A car cruised down the seemingly endless highway in the vast, everlasting desert. California… no, most of the west coast, in fact, is now nothing but sand and wreckage. Now and then, the rusting, weathered steel corpses of skylines and turnstiles can be spotted stretching for miles in the dry wasteland, while eroding ruins scattered every place where huge cities once stood. The west coast turned from a sunny paradise to a useless, barren wilderness… it was all BL/ind's fault. If they never stripped the land of its resources, perhaps the Internal Wars wouldn't have started, and this stupid place would still be filled with human population, instead of countless people gathering in specific BL/ind-controlled locations across the continent. Well… theme parks and cotton candy are just memories now, and it was clear to all survivors of the war, including the ones "held hostage" by Better Living Industries, that there's no turning back.

Poison detected slight stirring in the back of the car, and through the rear-view mirror, he saw Helena toss around. After a few moments, she was twisting and turning, huffing loudly as if she was desperate for a breath... Or perhaps something else. _She might wake up and notice she's someone she's not._ The BL/ind suit covering her body fell to the bottom of the car as she squirmed around; she continued with her movements for a short while, then started moaning as if she were in excruciating pain. Soon, there were faint whispers of _"blood… blood…"_

Poison slammed the brake, and the car skid to a screeching stop. With that, Helena immediately sat up, and stared the rear-view mirror.

Just like Poison's, her eyes shone a bloody, crimson red.

"I WANT BLOOD!" she bellowed in anguish. Turning around with lightning speed, she started thoughtlessly clawing at the backs of the blood-stained, cushioned seats. Seeing this, Poison quickly swung his car door open, and after jumping out the car, he sprinted to the back trunk and lifted it up in a matter of seconds, hauling out a fallen Draculoid. Meanwhile, an agitated Helena had escaped from the car and bolted to the body. "Make room!" She screeched at Poison and shoved him aside, then ravenously sank her teeth into the Draculoid's neck. Poison watched silently as Helena furiously gulped in the probably now-cold liquid, his face laced with horror and shock. Horror that he had turned her into the same wild monster as him; shock that he did the exact same thing when he woke from unconsciousness.

With mighty force, Helena tossed the empty corpse to the highway, then sprung up again and sank her teeth into a corpse lying inside the car. She looked enthralled with the Draculoid's blood, sucking feverishly with her powerful jaw. From the two small holes in the victim's neck, a bit of dark red liquid escaped her lips and slowly seeped out in an elegant stream. Poison was surprised at her cleanness as the Draculoid ran dry; he made a huge mess every time, but she was unbelievably tidy, making minimum damage to the limp body. However, soon she hurriedly threw the body to the ground, then dug in for another.

Two minutes later. Four bodies were discarded to the side of the highway, left to rot. Poison shared the last one with his lover; it tasted quite foul (appalling compared to fresh blood), but at least it was something.

The fire in Helena's eyes died down, while tiny droplets of blood dripped down from her chin and fangs, onto the highway. She stared at the corpses in horror, glanced down at her torn dress with the scars stretching across her body (somehow, it seemed to heal with unbelievable speed), then turned to Poison. "What… what's going on…? I'm not okay… I don't feel normal… I promise! And… what happened last night…? All I remember is pain… what's with this scar!? Please, Poison, tell me!" Her eyes seemed puzzled and shaken, while her body unconsciously quivered.

Poison gazed into her killing jars ***** , unable to think of an answer. How should he explain, and how should he apologize? There was a long moment of silence that almost seemed as if the time lasted for hours, as Helena intensely stared at his similarly crimson eyes, demanding for an answer.

Poison sighed. _Let me break this awkward silence…_ "You're not in this alone…" Helena continued to stare at him in confusion and fear. "We're... vampires."

"…And… what are we doing right now?"

"Well, remember a few months ago, when you were wearing that lip-gloss smile, didn't you say, 'you can run away with me anytime you want'?"

It was midnight; the moon hung in the peaceful night air. The starving Helena and Poison were excited beyond words when they spotted a futuristic city in front of them; of course, they knew it was BL/ind controlled, but they also knew they had to feed. The two had already cautiously drove into the town, with Helena wearing Poison's jacket (leaving him to wear a BL/ind one found at the back of the car instead) to cover up the exposed skin and scars from her ripped dress.

As they arrived at a tall, white concrete-and-glass apartment building where the scent of fresh, delicious blood drifted from, Poison switched off the car engine, and in the moonlight, the two quietly stepped out the car. Knowing this would be a perfect destination to feed, they exchanged approving glances, and silently rushed inside.

An hour later, the two came out with their bodies covered in blood, each dragging three wilted corpses behind them. One felt quite stuffed, while the other one wanted to vomit. Thick red trails led up to the awaiting car, with the male's messier than the female's. Upon arriving at their car, the male released his prey's limp arms, and opened the trunk with a _click_. The female crammed her three bodies inside, then bent down and threw two of the male's in. The male looked around, searching for any BL/ind Draculoids approaching. The coast was clear; the male nodded in confirmation at the female. The female opened the door to the back row of the car, and shoved in the last body, then the two leapt into their own seats in the front. The male started the car engine once more, and the female sat back, her shoulders tense and her eyes observing their shadowy surroundings. The two took off after a few seconds, searching for a gas station nearby to fill up their emptying gas tank.

The female turned around to see three bright lights flashing towards them from far away. "Hey! The night patrols!"

" _Oh fuck,"_ the male muttered. "We'd better get going." Without replenishing its fuel supply, the car zoomed off.

They could be perfect for one last night… then, tomorrow, they'll die like star-crossed lovers when they fight.


	7. Drowning Lessons

_Running away and hiding with you, I never thought they'd get me here… Not knowing you'd change from just one bite, I fought them all off, just to hold you close and tight…_

The two vampires were zipping down the highway, wary of the hoard of BL/ind cars chasing them. A beeping red light frantically flashed on the dashboard of the car, indicating the vehicle was running out of fuel. Poison scowled at the blinking light, while Helena sighed in worry. "We'll have to get on foot when this car dies," she told him while her eyebrows knotted. _"I know, Miss Obvious,"_ With his voice strained with anxiety, Poison snapped at Helena, who then gave a flinch. "S-sorry," Poison apologized, tightening his grasp on the steering wheel.

 _Screech!_ The car skidded to a stop as the last bit of fuel ran out, and thrust itself forward just a bit more, before its tires fully halted. "Angel, run." The two vampire lovers dashed out the car, and out into the desert. As they ran side by side, Poison reached down and threw Helena one of the guns on his belt, then tugged for the other two, clutching them securely in his hands. The roaring of seven BL/ind engines chased after them, and a few bullets shot out from behind. The two managed to dodge, and kept on running.

 _Heaven, help us now… come crashing down. We'll hear the sound, as you're falling down._

The cars and the vampires raced across the barren desert, occasionally exchanging a few shots. Though the vampire lovers were fast, the cars were faster…

Soon, they were surrounded.

The two, while panting loudly for their lungs screamed for oxygen, immediately began shooting the more than 30 Draculoids stepping out from the cars. Although a few Draculoids fell to the ground from Poison and Helena's precise shots, more bullets came shooting at the two lovers. Poison skillfully maneuvered the two guns in his hands, continuously firing shots at the Draculoids, while at her lover's back, Helena took down the Draculoids with her best ability. _Pang! Pang! Pang!_

However, no matter how skilled the duo were at using laser guns, they were quickly outnumbered. In the middle of the gunfight, the shots pelted in and out like flurries of cold-hearted kisses. A bullet struck Poison's right shoulder, and he was slightly flung backwards as he let out a screech. Stunned and letting out a few gasps of pain, Poison dropped the gun in his right hand and winced as the bullet tugged at his flesh, but recovered only a few seconds later and determinedly continued shooting with his left side. Distracted by Poison's faint gasps, Helena turned around to check his injury, not realizing a bullet was rushing at her. Spotting the lethal weapon charging towards his lover at top speed, Poison tried to tug at Helena with his damaged arm, and pull her to him to dodge the bullet…

It was too late.

She let out a loud shriek of pain before falling to the sandy ground. Poison froze, staring down at his fallen lover in shock and dread, as a red-black blood seeped out from her chest.

"Watch out…!" she moaned as a bullet came hurdling at Poison's body. Poison jerked his body to the left, but as his movement was just a fraction of a second to slow, he was deemed to be hit…

A bullet flew through his heart, almost transpiercing his body. He immediately collapsed down beside his lover, who was near her dying moment.

" _Poison, kiss me goodbye…"_ Helena begged with her last bit of strength, and managed to give a feeble, pleading smile at her lover. Tears gathered in the corner of Poison's eyes as he, with throbbing hands, reached out towards his love, and with all his might, pulled himself closer to her, until their bodies touched. Time seemed to stop as he gently stroked her face and tried to comfort her, while Helena remained silent, gazing at Poison with eyes filled with love. There was no need to verbally exchange their feelings; they both already knew they'd forever be each other's dearest.

As Poison proceeded to give her a delicate kiss on her forehead, her eyelids fluttered shut, and with letting out a last breath, veiled her beautiful eyes. Poison remained there, wrapping his warmth around her twisted shell, as the tears silently poured out from his crimsons. The heartache of her passing struck him like violent lightning, ripping through his body, tearing through his heart.

After seemingly minutes, he finally let go and twisted around a little, weakly reaching out for her delicate, gorgeous hands, and tightly grasping them with the very last of his strength. He gave a slight, affectionate smile at his beautiful angel as he again cradled her body with his warmth, but the smile turned to sadness as he realized the angel has fallen. Waterfalls plummeted from Poison's eyes, down his nose and cheek, and into the ground. Two pools of dark vampire blood gathered around the lovers, slowly draining into the sand. He could hear the sound; the angels come screaming, now.

 _And we'll all, dance along, to the tune of your death._

Poison let out a slight whimper of pain and misery, before he was completely consumed by darkness.

 _By streetlight, this dark night, a séance down below; there's things that I have done… You never should ever know._


	8. 1,000 Bodies Piled Up

_A thousand bodies piled up, I never thought would be enough, to show you just what I've been thinking… and I'll keep on making more, just to prove that I adore, every inch of sanity, all I'm asking for is…_

All Poison saw was darkness; however, he assumed the place was on fire, since smoke was filling his lungs and gradually choking him, and his skin was scorching hot. A mysterious, chilling shiver ran down his spine as an eerie, malicious laughter echoed around his surroundings. Poison gulped tightly, then daringly sneered, "come out, whoever you are!"

There was no response. Poison impatiently waited, while wondering where he'd ended up. Perhaps it was…

Lava shot up from the black, ash-covered ground, lighting up the cave-like place in a bright, ferocious red. More smoke rose from the vents enclosing him, and Poison coughed at the horrendous taste of the chemicals entering his throat.

He heard an evil snicker behind him; turning around instantly, he noticed a pair of glowing red eyes staring at him. The eyes, slightly darker than Poison's, stared at him intensely, and Poison could make out two large, sharp black horns that greatly contrasted the flaming orange-red lava spewing out behind him. _Is this… the Devil?_

Though he knew the beast could kill him any moment, Poison stood his ground. "What do you want?" He shouted at the monster, courageously meeting his gaze.

The Devil gave a wicked chuckle. "Hmm… Perhaps you like to make a deal with me?" He sneered, presenting his two ugly, jagged yellow teeth.

Poison glared at him, and the gazes of the two crimson eyes became locked. "What deal? Tell me more." Curious, he demanded the Devil with a menacing voice, with his two vampire teeth digging into his lower lip almost to the point of drawing out blood.

The Devil's eyes glowed with anticipation, and from his throat came a sickly, deep growl. "Your lover… she is still alive…" he hissed at the vampire. "You're… you are not lying to me, right?" His hands instinctively reached for the guns on his belt, only to find empty space. Poison snarled in anger and mistrust, and asked again. "You are not lying, right!?"

"Would I get any good from lying?" The Devil questioned Poison with that same bone-chilling voice.

Poison thought about it; it was worth a try. A glimmer of hope broke through his rage-filled eyes; if she's still alive, maybe he'll see her again…

"What's the deal?" He begged at the creature, his voice frantic.

"You may see your lover again… once you kill a thousand evil men." The Devil let out a thunderous, malevolent cackle.

Poison didn't hesitate to respond; his blind mind told him that it was worth a shot, and he _had_ to be with his lover. "I accept the deal." He told the Devil with a firm voice, with a frown of mixed sorrow and joy displayed on his face.

" _Good… good… good…_ " Poison could hear slow, impressed clapping and thunderous cackling from the monster, who had now disappeared behind the shoots of lava. Poison suddenly felt as if he were drifting upwards, and a blinding light forced him to shut his eyes…

 _From now on, Poison is gone. You, my fellow vampire friend, shall only be known as Gerard Arthur Way._

Gerard sat up, his eyes suddenly flashing open and again revealing its beautiful blood-red. He shook his foggy head around, trying to make sense of his fuzzy surroundings. He noticed he was sitting on a rotting black wooden bench, and the buildings around him seemed crumpled and grey, almost like the skeletons of the city structures distributed all over the desert. Cranking his sore neck and groaning in pain, he soon discovered a leather business suitcase by his side. Reaching towards it, he flipped open the locks, and unzipped the suitcase, lifting the upper section.

The suitcase was mostly empty; there were ten packs of cigarettes inside (something Gerard was _very_ pleased with), a lighter, two black pistols, and a mirror. Gerard picked up the mirror, wondering why it was there in the first place.

 _Woah._ He was quite shocked at his new appearance; now, his flaming red hair was completely replaced by countless lush, semi-long, jet black strands that dangled down to his shoulders in unclean cuts. It was still quite messy, but let's just say that Gerard was very fond of the color. The blood stains on his face remained, but now his pale vampire skin was basically _white_ , as if he had been living in this grey, gloomy ghost-town for all his life. A black suit and red tie took the spot of where his stolen BL/ind jacket once was, and his skinny jeans (as well as his eyebrows) were also in the darkest shade of the color spectrum. A thick stream of red eyeliner surrounded his crimson eyes. _Not bad,_ he thought to himself as he smirked with delight.

He admired his beauty for a moment, before shivering as the Devil whispered in his ear,

 _Now, Gerard, go kill 1,000 evil men._


	9. The Ghost of You

_And then, as razor sharp white teeth rip out our necks, I saw you there…_

"Eat…" The man- no, the _monster_ , snarled at the _animal_ , who carefully pecked at the small piece of stale bread, wincing at the terrible taste.

"HURRY UP!" The _monster_ spat at _it_ , who jolted back in fear. Silently, _it_ then reached out and gave a few more nibbles at the bread, for the temptation of food in _its_ rumbling stomach was growing too strong. After some painful, dry gulps, the _animal_ weakly looked back down at the chains on its ankles.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, the _monster_ produced a childlike pout at the _animal_ , mocking how broken and defeated _it_ looked, and how _it_ wasn't any more fun. Then, to make sure the unfortunate captive was listening, he struck _its_ bloodstained face with a mighty blow.

Expectedly, _it_ slowly raised _its_ head, glaring back up in hatred at what awaited:

An inhumane killer -cold-blooded, heartless, and uncaring- with murderous eyes and a striking smile of twisted glee.

 _Remember… they killed your friends… They started this… they began your torture… avenge for your friends, and avenge for yourself and the misery that haunts you…_

Another body tumbled to the blood-splattered floor of the monochrome BL/ind outpost. With a cigarette suspending from his mouth, Gerard spitefully smirked with one side of his cheeks, while the other remained in its callous cold. Even since his massacre began, the Devil kept encouraging that he must make the Draculoids pay for his friends' deaths, his personal suffering, and separation from. It made sense anyways; the Draculoids _are_ evil and caused his torment, so why not? And he had such fun and satisfaction with these games of manslaughter, as if a tiny bit of his anger and vengeance could be released every time a victim is butchered.

 _Six hundred thirty-two,_ an evil chuckle came from the voice in his head. _Only three hundred sixty-eight are left. You're doing quite well…_

The Draculoids kept shooting at him, but compared to his amateur enemies, Gerard, who was extremely gifted with his weaponry, was like a fucking god. Pointing the muzzle precisely at two of the remaining Draculoids' heads, he consecutively pulled the trigger as he gleamed with delight. _PANG PANG!_ Their bodies fell to the ground, blood pouring out from the bullet hole in their foreheads. _Six hundred thirty-four,_ the Devil muttered with an amused cackle. A few bullets zoomed at Gerard, but his accelerated reflexes helped him flip behind the wall behind him and dodge the shots. _This is so fuckin' fun_ , he thought with a dark snicker. _Now, I shall DESTROYA!_ He gracefully strode forward and returned to his original position in front of the wall, maneuvering his weapons with ease.

 _Six hundred thirty-eight… You are quite the entertainer!_

The bullets stopped rushing at him; Gerard gave a grin, and his crimson eyes glowed with enjoyment and delight. _Ahhh…_ he stared at the blood on the ground and the bodies surrounding him. Gerard spat out his cigarette, lapping his fangs with his tongue as his stomach growled, pleading for a delicious, engrossing liquid. Immediately, he dashed to the nearest fallen Draculoid, and sank those merciless fangs into its lifeless body. He closed his eyes, moaning in pleasure and relishing the lovely taste of the red liquid as it slipped down and soothed his fiery throat.

Unexpectedly, he could feel _her_ presence surrounding his body, trapping him like a cage of affection. _"Poison, my darling… Please come back to me..."_ In the darkness of his shut eyes, she reached out and grabbed his shoulders with her beautiful yet phantom-like hands, and leaned in for a kiss… Gerard felt her soft lips collide with his, and as she then closed her eyes, his heart sank with a mixture of joy and sadness. _Helena…_

Helena's sweet perfume consumed Poison as they intertwined their bodies in a tight hug while still locked within a fierce kiss. Her lush, exquisite black hair tickled his shoulders while he caressed her in a blanket of warmth. As she gently stroked his cheeks with her lovely hands, Gerard couldn't help but blush with pure happiness. Snuggling even closer to Helena, he cuddled her soft face with one hand and embraced her body with another, adoringly wrapping his arm around her waist as their passionate kiss grew deeper and deeper. _I love you… I love you so fucking much, my angel…_

He wished their kiss could just last forever, but no…

Helena suddenly let go of Gerard, and their kiss started fading away as Helena was being sadistically dragged away by invisible claws. His lover quickly disappeared behind a wall of mist, but nonetheless, with a ghostly voice, she desperately screamed, _"Poison, save me!"_

Gerard tried to reach out and seize her from its grasp, but he was firmly locked in his place. He helplessly, _torturously_ watched as a disturbing, blood-stained monster emerge from the mist, opening its petrifying jaw behind her, and getting closer and closer to Helena's panicking body. Helena kept on screaming and begging for help, but those invisible claws only persisted on pulling her towards her demise. Gerard's heart pulsed faster and faster as his happiness was replaced by dread and torment; his surroundings turned from a lonely black to a hellish orange-red. The monster let out a howl of delight as Helena shrieked one final time…

Then, there was nothing but silence.

His vision was gone. Once more, he was engulfed by the same desolate darkness.

 _No… no… NO! HELENA! DON'T LEAVE ME! OH PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME NOW! I MISS YOU SO FUCKING MUCH! OH PLEASE, DON'T GO AWAY, I'M NEEDING YOUR TOUCH!_

Sitting up, Gerard ultimately snapped out of his nightmare, and stared at the mess he'd made. His teeth still were still sunk in the victim's neck (somehow, he'd managed to provide enough force for his fangs to lift the body upright, just like himself), but clearly, he had stopped sucking sometime along the way of his vision. A pool of blood, leaking out from the holes in the victim's neck, surrounded him and his victim; Gerard drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled in anger at his soaked clothes. With that, he recalled his kiss with her, and he sighed in woe. _Helena…_

Her gorgeous body, that wonderful scent, her lips and her touch, the collision of her kiss made it… so hard. And the nightmare…

Lately, he's been having frequent nightmares, where he'd see a phantom-like Helena and they would interact in one way or another, but would eventually end up with him defeatedly witnessing her being hurt, and, in severe cases, killed. Perhaps it was a sort of punishment for killing all those lives; however, if he were to ever see his lover again, he was willing to do _anything._

 _Helena, trust me, very soon we'll meet again._

Then, without a sound, he wished her away; or tried to, at least.

Gerard carefully stood up, cursing in disappointment at the wasted blood. His pants were drenched with the now cooling liquid, and his black leather shoes were also covered with a thick coating of red. Hey, at least his entire outfit would be bloody now, since suit was constantly stained red anyways. He secured the magazines of his two black pistols to ensure they won't randomly go off, and tucked them inside the pockets in his pants. Recovering from the heartache and erasing her last images out of his head, he then stood up and stepped out from the gory mess, muttering " _ugh"_ in disgust as a few splashes of blood seeped down from his pants and made small splatters on the ground.

Uniform footsteps approached from down the hall, marching on top of the bodies already lying on the ground. Gerard turned around to see six more Draculoids heading for him; adrenaline and wrath rushed to his head, almost dizzying him, and he felt his thumping heartbeat go just a bit faster. _Ah, yes! Another few more for me to kill! I ensure you, as I demolish your hopeless little bodies, you will die a quick death… So, show me what you got; I can take it! Gimme more detonation, make 'em like tiny daggers up to heaven!_

They're never gonna get him- he knew that for sure. It was like a bullet through a flock of doves. Snorting, he pulled out the guns in his pockets, unsecured the magazines, raised his arms up and pointed the muzzles at the foolish Draculoids, then started firing at will.

After all this time in solitude, slaughtering became an addiction for Gerard. It was the only thing he still found entertaining; his loneliness and his _need_ for Helena drove him mad. The adrenaline that rushed to his head as his prey fell to the ground gave him immense pleasure, and he literally _cherished_ watching his victims die and their blood bleed out…

He became a freak, a mentally unstable psychopath. And… without her was how _he_ disappeared. At first, as he killed, he had desperately searched for her; along every Draculoid outpost, in the concentrated cities, sometimes even venturing into the Battery. But no, he could never find her, and after tragic disenchantment, he ultimately decided to surrender his dreams to the night, and stick solely to killing. Oh, what he'd do just to get back in her arms.

 _Would a thousand bodies piled up,_ he often thought, _ever be enough to show you just what I've been thinking of? Or, should I keep on making more, just to prove what I adore? But… every inch of sanity is all I'm asking for…_


	10. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

_Only go so far, 'till you bury them… so deep and down we go! Touched by angels though, I fall OUT OF GRACE! I did it all so maybe, I'd live this every day!_

"PICK UP THE PHONE! PICK UP THE PHONE, _FUCKER!_ " Slamming the brake and crashing his body into the steering wheel, Gerard _screamed_ into the small flip-phone he desperately clutched in his quivering hand.

There was no response.

Did she even miss him? Is she even _trying_ to find him?

"HELENA. PICK. UP. THE. PHONE." Distraught and frustrated, he growled at the tiny object, dying to hear her voice. _We could be in the park and dancing by a tree, kicking over blades we see! Angel, tell me, where are you?_

Other than the suffocating silence, he heard nothing but distant phantoms wailing.

Outside, the vampire grinned at the large black sign hanging on the front door, existing as a way for him to keep his precious peace and quiet, and distance himself from whatever filths that lurked in the town at night. (After a while, it turned out that the wreckage-town did have some scavengers scurrying around, moving their bodies when the sunlight died. A small, violent nomadic group known as the Riot, who slept in empty pools and vacant alleyways, sometimes dared venture too close to Gerard's residence. Of course, if one ever had the wits, they would face an immediate death by a shower of bullets. The bodies of all those who tried surrounded the house as a second warning.) Sprawled out on the sign were the big block letters: _"You better stay on that side of the street, motherfucker, or I'll knock you out!"_ He let out a chuckle of glee, before producing a powerful kick with his bloodstained right leg.

Once the door swung open, Gerard dragged a few more bodies in, carelessly throwing them onto the large pile in the corner of the living room. A plentiful pile of bodies already lay in the dark, dusty hiding place that Gerard had claimed for himself. The place wasn't decorated much, and some walls have long deteriorated, but he didn't mind. Here, he did not have the luxury of great food and games, but then, nor had he the lust for power and riches, so why should he care? All he wanted was a place to stay, and he had no intention of making it all fancy, since hopefully he would soon desert this wreckage and reunite with Helena.

The lights were turned on as he sighed, and bathed in the house's musty smell. After the bodies landed with a _thud_ , he strode to the stone counter of what once seemed to be the house's kitchen. He kept his beloved weapons there; knives, needles (though a slight fear for them were still instilled in his mind), salvaged guns from dead BL/ind Draculoids, just to name a few. All the walls in the house had at least a few drops of blood on them, but frankly, the floors were the dirtiest.

Rolling his eyes at the sterile view outside from the gray stained windows, Gerard turned on the sink, and water came wildly spraying at his polluted hands. He grinned as blood drained down into the sink, then poked at the suds that gathered as he rubbed his hands with soap. Soon turning off the water, he wiped his hands on an old, somewhat stained towel, then stylishly strode to his collection of weapons.

Gerard selected a sharp knife from his wide, organized array of weaponry, picked up an unwashed, bloodstained wine glass and a new corpse from today, and headed for his bedroom. Turning the knob, the scarlet-stained door slowly creaked open, revealing a trail of blood leading up to a fella hanging from a steel bar that Gerard had installed to the wall. The former Draculoid, now with his mask taken off, had scars running all over his body, and a pool of blood dripping down from his red pants. Needles were stuck in his face and chest for intimidation, and a few times, Gerard even took his gun and shot the former Draculoid in his limbs. The man, no, _animal_ , would scream in torment and agony, and when Gerard first held him captive, the drugs would kick in and quickly silence the disturbing noise, but since its effects have now faded with the lack of "medicine", the _animal_ would, sometimes for up to hours, howl in anguish. Gerard _loved_ that sound, the sound of pain and suffering and perhaps even a bit of hatred. With each torture session, the _animal_ would become more _human_.

To Gerard, torturing the unlucky _animal_ (or so he called him) could be considered a hobby; he'd almost killed Gerard in a battle once (of course, in Gerard's twisted mind, the shot was absolutely by luck), so Gerard dragged him to his hideout to teach him a deadly lesson. The former Draculoid was fed two meals a day and constantly in agony, although Gerard would most likely deny he enjoys torturing more than directly killing (of course, that doesn't mean torture brings absolutely no delight to him). Or, perhaps Gerard simply held him hostage as a means of passing the time; after all, he did consider the victim as an amusing companion.

After Gerard walked in, he flung the corpse to the side, then turned on some music for company. It was that kind of music that he fancied: earsplittingly loud guitar and drums, combined with quite violent lyrics from an aggressive, blaring voice.

 _Another knife in my hands, a stain that never comes off the sheets, clean me off, I'M SO DIRTY, BABE! It ain't the money and it sure as hell ain't just for the fame; it's for the bodies I claim and lose…_

With the lights off, the only luminescence in the dark room came from the warm yellow glow of several scented candles. Across from the location of the victim was a properly functioning bathtub, where Gerard would lather his hands and body if he ever felt like it.

Now standing next to the metal beam, Gerard ran the blade along the face of the victim, who stared at the ground, almost as if he were unconscious. Seeing no response of fear from his "pet", Gerard pulled back the knife, then harshly shoved it into the victim's right shoulder. With his wine glass, Gerard collected the blood seeping out from the painful wound, and grinned with joy. The victim, unable to continue acting, moaned in anguish and recoiled in horror as Gerard snickered at his filling wine glass and the sound of metal digging into flesh.

Gerard twisted the knife around in the victim's shoulder. Looking away, the victim let out a deafening shriek, then groaned weakly, _"I… will… not… give… u-"_

"SILENCE!" Gerard barked, his crimson eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. With one hand, he slapped the _animal_ in the face, while still holding the wineglass under the wound with his other hand. Glaring the victim in the eye, he murmured with a voice bitter and low: "A drink, for the horror that you're in…"

Soon enough, the glass was full. Gerard tugged the knife out of the victim's shoulder, and the victim let out a small hiss of pain, which was silenced as Gerard gracefully pressed a pointer finger to the its lips. _"Hush, my lovely,"_ he whispered, quite romantically. _"Look at me."_

He gradually knelt onto the floor, staring into the one remaining eye of the tortured victim and admiring the remaining, exposed eye socket from where his other eye formerly was. Cocking his head, he beamed in enchantment, almost like how an artist pridefully smiles at his perfect work. After a few moments, he swiftly turned around, seeming to have recalled something as he jolted up with excitement. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He exclaimed as he dragged the limp corpse from earlier to the bathtub, then switched the music to a mellow, sweet and dreamy violin.

After he gently placed the blood-filled wineglass on the rough carpet, he twisted the bathtub knob and warm water started to flow in. As the bathtub filled, Gerard (facing away from the _animal_ ) unbuttoned his black suit and slid off his black pants, revealing his back to the victim. After running his hands down his thighs in some sort of twisted self-admiration, he carefully stepped into the bathtub, slumping into the lukewarm water. He moaned in glee as the water surrounded him, relaxing his tense, tired muscles, with the light from the candles gently casting onto his head and neck, adding some shade to his pale, almost colorless face. "Sometimes I see flames, and sometimes I see people that I love dying and, it's always-" His voice unexpectedly cracked; he cut himself off as he tried to choke back the tears. For a few seconds, the two in the room remained in silence, until Gerard decided to suddenly sit up and reach out from the bathtub to grab the corpse's wrist. Ever so delicately, he gradually sank his fangs into the skin, penetrating it in an almost dreamy way. Bloody daggers slid out as he then dripped the flowing liquid from the wrist and into the bathtub, contaminating the clear water with red.

Soon, Gerard removed the wrist from its position over the bathtub, then let go, to watch it lifelessly fall to the ground with a soft thump. Subsequently, he, almost as if he were acting, bent down and raised the wineglass at his prey while giving a delighted and exaggerated wink, then took a leisured sip.

While flashing his perfect vampire teeth at his victim, from the vampire came a quiet whisper, "For you, my friend… _three cheers, for sweet revenge_."


	11. The End, Dead!

_We're damned after all; through fortune and fame we fall! And if you can stay, then I'll show you the way, to return from the ashes you call! We all carry on, when our brothers in arms are gone! So, raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die, and return from the ashes you call!_

Without the shades, the blinding light of sunny Battery City easily penetrated through the large glass windows of BL/ind Headquarters, forcing Gerard to squint his eyes. Around him, countless bodies lay limp on the floor, surrounded by a huge, nasty pool of blood. The large building felt so empty… Gerard had mercilessly killed whoever approached him, clearing out the headquarters with minimal effort.

He heard a quiet set of footsteps behind him; turning around and spotting a stray Draculoid, he raised his gun and shot the Draculoid to the ground before his victim could even respond. Gerard sneered to himself with contentment as blood poured out from the Draculoid's wound.

 _Nine hundred ninety-two,_ the Devil whispered inside his head, a chuckle following the hideous and unsettling voice. _You're getting close, my friend, but I have some fun ones waiting for you…_

Seven tonelessly dressed figures marched down the far hallway, towards the main entrance where Gerard stood. Swiftly turning to face the long, shadowy hallway where sunlight couldn't reach, Gerard observed the distinct outlines of what seemed like a short, high-heel-wearing woman in the middle, accompanied by Korse and the three other leaders of the four main units of BL/ind, as well as two Draculoids with long, black rifles. Knowing those minions are the best fighters BL/ind has, Gerard turned around, dashing towards the opposite direction of the hallway. He then ducked into the nearest room, soon leaning against a wall. Flashes of memory played inside his head, memories of Korse holding the gun under his chin, sounds of his friends falling as they died… Hatred and rage surged inside his body, and his eyes glowed with an intense, fuming red.

Once the seven BL/ind _machines_ marched out to the main entrance, Gerard sprung to the entrance, turned his body around 90 degrees clockwise with astounding speed, and, reaching his arms and face out from the doorway for aim, shot down the two guard Draculoids. He then swiftly ducked back inside and behind the wall, telling himself that he'll take down Korse next, to avenge for his friends.

"Annihilate him!" An ugly, sour, and slightly accented female voice ordered her four minions. Instantly, countless bullets came rushing towards the wall, creating holes everywhere as they transpierced the concrete; through the holes, bullets started landing into the room, towards where Gerard stood. Using the holes as a temporary advantage, Gerard continuously shot at the minions and the lady-with-the-accent.

Out of nowhere, an unsuspecting bullet struck through Gerard's left kneecap, and he let out a thunderous screech of pain as the bullet flew out of the puncture in his flesh and bones. Dark, black blood started oozing out of the wound, mixing with the red stains on his pants as Gerard's knee gave in. His face was crunched up with anguish as his injured leg collapsed under his weight.

 _No… I… must… stand… up… I'm so close to… killing 1,000 evil men… Only… a few more… to… go... before… I see… Helena… again… KILL! KILL THEM!_

While the bullets continued to rush at him through the wall, fury and desperation swelled inside Gerard. Panting, he briefly regained his strength and, while gasping in agony, propped himself up again with his arms, vowing to destroy the ones that separated Helena from him. He limped back up the wall, and behind the holes, again started shooting at the four highest ranking minions of his ultimate enemy.

As he ceaselessly fired bullets, he heard two yelps of quickly silenced pain. _Helena, don't worry, we'll meet again very soon!_ He comforted the imaginary Helena in his mind, although the throbbing in his knee was on overdrive as he forced himself to stand. Another bullet came dashing through the wall, hitting Gerard's good kneecap. His knees immediately buckled once more, and rolling to the side, he howled in agony and twisted in distress as blood spilled out from his other leg. Using his arms and remaining strength to propel himself forward, he slipped under a near work-desk. Letting go of his guns, he held his two legs to his chest, trying to conceal the unbearable anguish inside.

Outside the room, the boss of BL/ind vilely smirked, then turned to Korse. "Go terminate him," she ordered; an obedient Korse replied "yes, boss" with a robotic voice. _This will be the last of that Killjoy filth that crippled my Draculoid supply,_ she thought to herself, delighted at the concept of ending his life.

Gerard, a bit confused at the sudden stop of the bullets, heard footsteps quickly marching towards the entrance of the room. He hurriedly let go of his legs and picked up his guns, but before he could get out from his temporary hiding place, Korse had already stomped to the desk. As Gerard looked up with surprise, Korse lifted the desk and hurdled it at the heavily damaged wall. Then, he bent down and knelt in front of Gerard, pointing his gun up at Gerard's chin, the same way he did when the Children of the Gun tried to rescue The Girl.

Once more, their eyes locked gazes, just as they did long ago. Korse twisted his head around in the same way as before, giving that ugly, menacing grin. His opponent could hear the loud pounding in his chest as his blood feverishly rushed inside his body.

"I'm not afraid to die." Gerard whispered with almost that exact voice from his final mission with his friends, but this time much more bitterly, as he slowly pointed a gun up at the unsuspecting Korse's heart…

"I'll make you pay for the damage you have done-"

 _PANG!_

Silence.

After a few moments, Korse eventually dropped his gun, pressing at his blood-spewing heart, trying to stop the endless bleeding. No matter how hard he pushed against the wound, the red liquid continued to seep out onto his hands and down his arms and body, and soon, the minion was choking for breath. He stared, wide-eyed and stunned, at Gerard, who was wincing in a cocktail of joy, hatred, pleasure and hurt. "You-" Korse staggered backwards, before gasping one last time…

He fell to the floor, lifeless.

As the hatred died down, a frightening suddenly laughter erupted from the mentally unstable Gerard, and clutching his chest, he threw his head backwards and let out loud snorts at the strangely funny way Korse's eyes were still gaping open with shock, even after his death. However, the uncontrollable laughter soon died down, and was changed to a soft, miserable sniffling. He couldn't help but lower his head when the sight of his friends' graves was, for the millionth time, evoked in his mind, as well as his last moments with Helena, and that kiss that he, ever so gently, placed on her forehead. _I've avenged your deaths, my Brothers of the Gun. Rest in peace… And Helena, my angel, I have avenged for you, too…_

Casting a quick glance at his fallen enemy's body, he saw a bandaged wound on his outstretched leg. He recalled hearing a robotic cry before he passed out; _maybe Kobra Kid did that,_ he smiled with pride as tears began to brim his shining eyes. Nonetheless, he urgently shook himself out of the thought; there were still things to take care of, things to finish.

 _Helena, another night, and I'll see you._

With both of his crippled legs barely functioning, he hoisted himself back up, and with tremendous endeavor, finally managed to limp to the doorway. He could feel the presence of a muzzle pointing at him; before the final minion could shoot, Gerard already took him down with a loud _pang_.

Gerard turned his head towards the Boss of Better Living Industries, who was desperately running down the hall, most likely due to her fear overcoming the drugs in her bloodstream (…did she even take her drugs?). He swiftly shot her down with two blows to the thighs and approached her, ignoring the intense throbbing of his injuries, and his horrid, disgraceful limping. The Boss reached for a gun, but Gerard promptly gave shots at both of her arms, causing her to crumple into a ball on the floor. Relying solely on his stubborn ambition to kill the person who started it all, it took all the strength left in him as he stumbled towards her, and finally settled down at her fetal-positioned body, his failing legs again tugging the rest of him onto the ground. With an unwavering determination to end it all and fulfill his lingering and excruciating desires, he crawled to her side, his crimsons staring into her grey, traumatized eyes.

"It's time for you to check into the hotel _bella muerte,_ my dear," he murmured in a soft, almost amorous voice, despite his dire wish to wince in pain. He pinned her down and confined her in his cage-like grasp, and though she tried to squirm and struggle herself free, her efforts were useless. He gave her a gorgeous, dashing yet hungry and loathing smile-

Then sank his teeth into her neck.

 _999 murdered…_ The devil whispered. _One more to go._


	12. So Long, and Good Night

_And we'll love again, we'll laugh again, we'll cry again, and we'll dance again! And it's better off this way, so much better off this way; I can't clean the blood off the sheets in my bed! And never again, and never again, they gave us two shots to the back of the head, and we're all dead now._

" _You… you're the last evil man…"_

" _No! That can't be! If I died, how would I still see Helena again!?"_

" _Oh, trust me, my friend… soon, you will realize the truth!"_

The Devil's voice faded into silence, and Gerard was once more surrounded by that same unnerving darkness. Then, out of nowhere, the memories began to creep into his head, piling up until the bomb inside him started ticking off. The people that he'd killed… so many lives taken… biting into Helena… killing for enjoyment… The blood… the guns… the screaming… the twisted satisfaction… The scenes of Draculoids falling to the ground, the desperate screaming of Helena as his fangs battered her body, all those bullets, all that blood…

 _For all you've done, you are the last evil man…_

It was a lie. He was given a lie.

What a shame; how stupid was he to trust the Devil!? But it was all too late; he'd never be able to regain his innocence and undo his actions, the lives he'd taken. He would be forever in hell…

He'd never see Helena again.

 _No… no… no, my angel…_

But he knew he had to do it… Maybe it'll at least silence his constant nightmares…

 _You're the last evil man…_

 _You're the last evil man…_

 _You're the…_

His voice was drowned out by Helena's desperate screaming.

Gerard sat up, gasping in horror and anguish. He _is_ the last evil man; for hopes of seeing one person again, he had taken the lives of nine hundred ninety-nine. He had become a selfish, greedy, twisted man, far away from the fabulous Killjoy that he once was. He knew he deserves to die, he deserves to never see his lover again; he _deserves_ to forever burn in hell.

Haha, fuck it. It's time to hang 'em high. Make a show with his dead body, eh? He was nothing but a sad song with nothing to say, so why should've anything mattered, and why should he have tried in the first place? Just gun it. He's not holding on anymore; it's time to leave this world of shotgun sinners and wild-eyed jokers behind. (Yes, the Riot were annoying the _fuck_ out of Gerard.) _He'd_ kiss her lips, but now, it's too much too late, and he can't. He wondered if he should at least _try_ to save her heart, or see what her inside thoughts of him may be, but now, all he could say was that he'd encourage her smiles, and he'd expect her not cry. Perhaps he'd drown himself in misery tonight, if she wears out all her dancing shoes this time. But, did she even know of his existence during all this while?

He got out from his bed, and grabbed a pistol lying close by. Loud, heavy music was turned on right after, revealing its depressing lyrics of misery.

 _Back home, off the run_ _  
_ _Singing songs that make you slit your wrists_ _  
_ _It isn't that much fun?_ _  
_ _Staring down a loaded gun…_

 _So, I won't stop dying_ _  
_ _Won't stop lying;_ _  
_ _If you want I'll keep on crying!_ _  
_ _Did you get what you deserve?_ _  
_ _Is this what you always want me for!?_

He could feel a slight tingling of terror as the voice, so familiar to his own, started whispering "way down…" repeatedly. The voice progressed in loudness, until a final scream of "WAY DOWN!" that tore into his heart and shattered him.

Suddenly pressing the 'pause' button, he stopped the music. 'Way down' would be his fate soon. Deliberately shutting his eyes, he leaned down and drew in a few cycles of breaths, trying to calm the abrupt turmoil boiling inside him. As his heartbeat drew back to normal, a giggly feeling rushed back into his untamable brain. Very slowly, he got back up and walked to the steel bar. He unlocked the victim from his hostage, causing the _animal_ to crumple to the bloody carpet due to its weakened legs. Smiling, Gerard slowly crouched down in front of his tortured Draculoid, and whispered to the victim, "hey, you wanna see some entertainment?"

The victim feebly opened his eyes, and blankly stared at Gerard, who was pointing the muzzle of his gun in a suicide position. Unsurprised (the former Draculoid knew very well of Gerard's mental state), the _animal_ said nothing as the two exchange glances.

There was a moment of silence, before Gerard's impatience grew out of control. "ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?" Gerard snapped at the frail, severely injured man, his eyes turning just a bit more bloodshot as a burst of anger exploded inside him. Startled at the vampire's sudden outbreak of fury, the victim gradually nodded.

Gerard sighed in relief and hunched over for a brief second, before giving another debonair smile at his victim. "Oh, I bet you'll enjoy this…" he murmured with a dark chuckle, pressing the gun to the back of his head. "After this is over, _leave._ " He closed his eyes, and drew in a final breath…

 _Pang-pang._

He pulled the trigger two times.

 _1,000._

 _Down, and down we go, and down we go, and down we go, AND WE ALL, FALL, DOWN! I TRIED! I TRIED!..._

 _But I lied. I lied._

He was falling towards somewhere hot. He could see flames; scorching, red-hot fires were shooting up at him, trying to tug him further down with each strike. _This is it,_ he assured himself as his mind flooded itself with serenity. His mindset had strangely changed; he could feel no fear, no passion, no anger, no need for revenge, no sadness, no misery, no happiness… nothing but peace. _Finally, the living nightmare will end, and the haunting memories will all disappear. At last, I shall descend to my doom; at last, through fortune and fame, I shall fall and go to hell._ He shut his eyes, waiting to plummet down to the sweltering lava down below. Though he felt numb, he could still smell and feel the wet blood still pouring out from the bullet-hole created from the two shots he gave at the back of his head.

 _Tell the judge that I'm innocent! Tell the jury I'm no one at all…_ A voice of panic squeaked in his head, though soon silenced by the eerie quietude. Perhaps this was tragic with a capital T, but… let it be.

" _Gerard Arthur Way."_

Gerard calmly opened his eyes, as he continued to descend. Standing right in front of him were two phantoms, dressed in black-and-white marching band outfits and staring at him with divine smiles on their faces. They were almost transparent, and their voices sounded so hollow, but Gerard knew they were real and not just hallucinations.

One of the phantoms reached out to him, gently grabbing his hands. A strange and somewhat chilly tingle ran down Gerard's spine as the phantom, with an almost non-existent touch, stroked his skin. _Who are you?_ Curious and amazed at their marvelous, almost saintly presence, Gerard tried to ask the phantoms, but no voice came out. Still, the phantoms seemed to read his mind as he kept on drifting downwards, closer and closer to hell.

" _You have no need to know who we are; you will soon find out. We are here to grant you the privilege of seeing your lover again..."_

Their splendid, soothing voices echoed around his mind as his falling seemed to stop. The phantoms slowly faded away, and with a flash, the darkness and flames engulfing him turned into a blinding ray of sunshine. Gerard quickly shut his eyes, covering his eyelids with one of his hands.

The bright light seemed to die down as he felt himself lying in the arms of someone warm… That breath-taking perfume, those soft, angelic fingers that made small circles on his face as they tenderly stroked…

Gerard opened his eyes to the sight of her glorious splendor.

"Helena, my angel…" He whispered weakly at his ethereal lover. Helena stared down at him, a loving yet forlorn smile on her face as tears gathered in her beautiful crimson eyes.

"Poison, my love…" She murmured tenderly, her voice cracking as she called his name. "I miss you so much…"

The smell of blood was gone; however, Gerard could still feel the strength leaving his body. It felt as if invisible hands were suffocating and drowning him, and knew that although the beings he saw were possibly angels, he was still dying in some way. All he could do was pray to be granted more time with his lover, as a final, sorrow-filled goodbye. "Helena, my sweetheart… listen to me…" He gazed up at her with pleading eyes. Helena, with tears clouding her vision, nodded as she fingered his greasy black, terribly cut hair.

"Helena… remember, after I'm gone… Be the savior of the broken, the beaten and… the… damned… bring back the humanity of BL/ind's victims, please-" choking, he stopped for a moment, gasping for air. He begged at the damned invisible hand that constricted his throat, _please… just a few more moments…_ Temporarily regaining a bit of strength, he continued, "destroy the remains of BL/ind… promise me… please, my lovely angel… promise me…"

A brokenhearted tear finally plunged to his face. "I- I promise, my love," she shakily whispered to him, leaning down to give the shivering Gerard more warmth. Gerard looked up at her with an affectionate glance, smiling at her fragile beauty, as more droplets fell onto him. With a quivering hand, he reached up and gently wiped away the streaks of water flowing down her cheeks, comforting her as he then stroked the bags under her eyes. "C'mon angel, don't you cry… c'mon angel, don't you cry…" he hoarsely breathed, while continuing the caressing movements with trembling hands. Although it may sound twisted, he found it comforting to see that she still loved him enough to weep. Back in his solitude, he thought he'll die alone- live and breathe and die alone. Flashes of their fondest memories raced in his head, bringing intense melancholy as he thought about their kisses in the desert, and all the embraces they've had over the few years they have been together. The taste of revenge may have been sweet as hell, but nothing's sweetness could _ever_ compare to her honeycomb scent.

"Look alive, sunshine… Don't be afraid to keep on living… don't be afraid, even if you walk this world alone… Remember, my angel, that I still love you, like I did yesterday, and I will forever love you… I-I really wish I could sing you to sleep, but now, my lovely-" He leaned sideways and coughed violently, as the invisible hand's grasp tightened and last of his life began to seep away. Helena, frowning with torment and sadness, bent down and tried to ease his pain by kissing his lips. Gerard's eyes crinkled as the kiss deepened and Helena's affection entirely consumed him. _I'll miss you, my lovely Helena,_ he thought to himself. _But it's time for me to go…_

Fighting the urge to cry, he feebly pushed Helena away, and sniffling, she sat up again. "No, Poison, don't leave me," she dreadfully pleaded between sobs, gazing down in sadness as she continued to tightly clutch Gerard in her arms. Now, even Gerard couldn't stop the waterfalls spilling down her face. But, did she even know a thing about his sins? Oh, how the misery begins…

Gerard stared into her eyes with a loving gaze, and after stroking her delicate face one final time, he softly whispered, "Helena, my beautiful… angel… don't you cry…" Drawing in a final breath, he shut his eyes, hoping her gorgeous crimsons would be the last thing he ever saw before his eternal sleep.

 _Saints, protect her now… Come, angels of the Lord… Come, angels of unknown…_

He exhaled.

 _So Long, and Good Night._

 _Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo!_

 _If you say goodbye today, I'd ask you to be true… 'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you…_

' _Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you._


	13. The Black Parade

_Do or die, you'll never make me! Because the world will never take my heart; go and try, you'll never break me! We want it all, we wanna play this part (We'll carry on!)_

Gerard opened his eyes to a dim, weak light, then noticed himself to be lying on the cold, hard ground, within what seemed like a large cave made from debris. He slowly sat up, with a stinging pain still echoing in his head. _Where am I…?_ He had expected burning lava and torturous heat, but perhaps there was no more room in that hell, and no more room in the next. He touched the back of his head; to his surprise, the bullet-hole was gone. From outside, loud, guitar-heavy rock music pumped into his ears.

Managing to stand up with wobbly legs, he cautiously walked out of the makeshift cave. The sight in front of him was particularly… special; marvelous in its own way, he must say. Dust covered almost every inch of ground, and copious amounts of rubble lay all around. In the far distance, beyond the rubble, was the outline of a crumbling city. It had now corroded to the mere basic frames of former concrete buildings, and some large chunks of material scattered randomly on top of the remaining waste. In the middle of all the debris marched a parade of phantoms; each one of them wore the black and white outfits with different variations, though the majority also donned some additional trinkets and white masks. Some of the female phantoms sported monochrome dresses with dashes of red, instead of the common black jacket with white stripes. Despite their slight differences in appearance, they were still all somewhat transparent but undoubtedly real. The marching phantoms looked almost exactly like the two that visited him before his descend into Helena's arms (each with their own variances of clothing, of course); perhaps instead of Hell, he'd gone somewhere else?

Around him, ashes glided freely in the air; as he inhaled, a few fine grains of dust flew into his nostrils, making him sneeze. In the dull, gloomy sky hovered a large black zeppelin, with the words "The Black Parade" messily inscribed with white. Gerard's surroundings were a flurry of black, white, grey and sporadic red, as the ashes continued to drift about. Holy _shit,_ the parade was seemingly endless; he could not see the final person. However, a large, red-rimmed float with a rock band playing on top came around occasionally, though there seemed to be no other repeating phantom marchers. The four players in the band were wearing virtually identical black-and-white outfits, although looking more closely, Gerard did identify many differences. In the band, a cheerful man with an afro and a much shorter man with black hair were passionately playing their guitars, while a dark-haired, skinny boy with awkwardly bending knees was playing bass, and a golden-haired man sat in the back, rocking out on his drum. Strangely enough, the band had no lead singer. Gerard didn't know how long he stared at the parade, but he was obviously struck with awe.

Gerard spotted a blonde, long-haired lady in a large black-and-white gown, wearing a gas mask that protected her entire face. To her sides trod two short-haired, skinny ladies in black vests and spiky, slick boots, with a horizontal black streak of makeup across both women's eyes. One of them held a sign that read " _STARVED TO DEATH IN A LAND OF PLENTY_ ", while the other's left hand was a wooden stick with feathers and skulls on top. They both had solemn expressions on their faces, though the one on the left seemed to be noticeably more so. They were followed by an even skinnier man wearing a large, greyish hospital gown, white socks, and black slippers. A metal hung around his neck, and circling his eyes were huge, dark rings. _Maybe he just joined this place a short while ago,_ Gerard concluded at the sight of the hospital gown.

Another marcher, who was trailing behind the skinny ladies, recognized Gerard's enthralled face, and walked to him with graceful, light-footed strides. "Greetings." He bowed down in a polite manner, and strangely, his voice could be heard despite the thunderous music in the background. The phantom wore the apparently traditional black-and-white, but his skin was much paler than most of the marchers (in fact, it seemed to be an extremely unhealthy shade), and his body was much more skeletal, just like the previous man in the hospital gown. He was bald, and his lips were chapped and faded. _He might've been diagnosed with cancer when he was still alive,_ Gerard thought to himself. He looked at the marcher once more, and though he looked pallid and (not to be crude) sickly, his facial features were strikingly similar to Helena's. "H-Hello," Gerard stammered as he continued to ponder about the marcher's face.

Looking up at Gerard once more, the marcher opened his mouth, snapping Gerard out of his thoughts. "Welcome to the Black Parade. It is our honor to have you here." The marcher spoke to him with a firm voice, which surprised Gerard slightly, due to the phantom's fragile appearance. Trying to be mannerly, Gerard smiled back at him as the name gained its way into Gerard's thoughts. _The Black Parade… hmm… that name sounds very familiar…_

His memories struck him. He remembered that day, when he was a young boy, and his father took him to see a marching band in the city. As a very delighted Gerard stared at the uniform marchers in wonder, his father asked, "Son, when you grow up, will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?" Gerard had nodded in slight confusion. Seeing this, he had continued, saying, "Will you defeat them, you demons, and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? Because one day, I'll leave you, a phantom, to lead you in the summer, to _join the black parade."_

It was such a blurry memory; at the time, he was probably four or five. But even though he couldn't remember his late father's face, those words have somehow always remained with him. For years, he tried to fulfill his father's wishes of him becoming a savior, and perhaps he'd achieved that by becoming a Killjoy and fighting the evil BL/ind. And now, here he was, joining this _Black Parade_ …

After introducing a few members that the distracted Gerard most likely saw earlier (including Mama, Fear & Regret, and The Patient, although not himself), he presented a mirror to Gerard, holding it up to his face. Gerard let go of his memories, then gazed at his reflection, eyes wide with surprise. His vampire teeth were gone, returning to their original positions in the two flawless rows inside his mouth. His hair was a shade of silver-ish white-blond, and a small ring of black eyeliner circled his once more hazel eyes. His bloodstained suit had been changed to the same outfit that the band on the float wore. Gerard smiled with joy, approving his fresh look. Two beautiful black leather gloves were slipped onto his somewhat transparent hands, which was something different from the band. _Hey, I gotta say, this outfit looks pretty good on me_ , he told himself, gleaming with pleasure. And though this place may not be heaven, it was much better than the outcome he'd expected… unless if this is hell, of course in which this is probably not, considering the multiple mentions of "The Black Parade", and the fact that his father was a decent parent who loved his children. The dark grey sky, the ashes and debris, the marching phantoms, and everything else; they all held a particular beauty within them, something Gerard couldn't describe. Nonetheless, this place looked quite ideal to him, somewhere he'd want to go after death.

"Do you have any questions?" The phantom asked, flashing a considerably good-looking smile that showed his ghostly white teeth.

Gerard hesitated for a moment, then asked with a deep, overcast frown, "Will I ever see Helena again?" He still remembered her eyes from when he's gone. He knew he couldn't always just forget her, but she could try.

The marcher convinced him with an assuring, positive voice, "yes, of course you will see her again. It is not yet her time to join us, but one day, you two will be reunited."

Gerard smiled to himself and sighed with relief, though sadness still broke through his handsome hazel eyes. But then, would anything matter if you're already dead? By now, life was just a dream to him. Plus, he wasn't yet ready to confront her (when she's not pleading him to stay alive, at least), especially when he had already waged a war against the faith she had in him. Oh, all the shit that he's done with that fuck of a gun… she would cry out her eyes all along. _Helena, I never told you what I did for a living_. "Thank you. No more questions."

 _Oh, Helena, don't you breathe for me. I'm undeserving of your sympathy, 'cause there ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did, and… Through it all, how could you cry for me? 'Cause I don't feel bad about it; no, not at all!_

Behind the phantom marcher, the band float appeared once more. The marcher turned away to make sure of the float's approach, and turned back, giving Gerard a humble, respectful smile. "Then, Mr. Way, please take your rightful position as the leader of the Black Parade."

Again, the loud rock music drifted from the float; the anthem of the parade sounded so disturbingly familiar to him, even before his first-ever listen inside the cave. Up close, the men on the parade float looked quite familiar… Although at first, he could not recognize the four (who were all engrossed in playing their own instruments), Gerard soon realized with happiness and shock that they were Mikey, Frank, Ray, and an old friend named Bob, who, at the beginning of the Killjoys' formation, sacrificed himself to save Mikey and Ray's lives. As Frank swung his guitar around in a swift movement, he finally saw a dumbfounded Gerard standing there, with his jaw dropped just a bit from surprise. Frank's mouth widened into that familiar, mischievous, childlike, yet warm and welcoming smile. "Mr. Destroya, we're all waiting for ya!" He yelled over the sound of the rock band at Gerard, whose eyes began to brim with tears.

As Gerard, still amazed at the parade's infinite magnificence and overjoyed the reunion with his friends, quickly strode towards the marching band's float, the lyrics of the anthem were silently hummed in his head. _Do or die, you'll never make me! Because the world will never take my heart, go and try, you'll never break me! We want it all-_

He stepped onto the lead position of the Black Parade, just in time for the anthem's last three words and the final "we wanna play this part" from his harmonies. His heart vigorously pounded in joy and pride, and grabbing the silver microphone that awaits, he boldly chanted with a loud, confident voice:

"We'll carry on!"

The End.


	14. EPILOGUE- House of Wolves

Helena stared at her horrid reflection in the mirror, then the slits on her wrists…

It's been five years since his death; she had done her job of restoring the humanity back into the victims of BL/ind's tyranny. However, the personal results she got from her missions were… pitiful. With the demise of her lover, she was alone and haunted. She tried, she _desperately_ tried to live by his last words of "Don't be afraid to keep on living, don't be afraid, even if you walk this world alone", but it's easier said than done. Her broken mind constantly dumped salt onto the bloody scars in her brain, and those stupid thoughts relentlessly wreaked havoc on her body.

She missed her Poison; all that was left of him were the memories, of their passionate kisses, his warm, loving embrace, and that final moment with him, as he gently stroked her face. Bottles of alcohol lay around her small dwelling, knives littered her bathroom, and the toilet water was not clear, but a bloody red. Her black-and-red eyeliner was smeared as the tears rolled down her face. Oh, so worthless, this waste of a life was… Like a piece of rubbish. All her friends were gone, as before Poison's destruction of BL/ind, the remaining Killjoys were all hunted down. In the lonely, frigid nights, all she could hear were those ghosts in the sun, calling at her, begging her to join them…

 _I hate this person in this mirror. So pathetic, so weak, so ugly, so forlorn, with all dreams crushed and gone with the wind._

She quickly wiped off the make-up; what's in was despair.

Slowly, she sat down onto the toilet, examining the slits on her wrists. She drew out a knife, and while wincing, made another cut along the long stretch of scars. The pain felt good; for a few brief moments, the ache of torn flesh made her feel alive. The blood mixed with her lot of emotions and the black dress she'd thrown on earlier; she smiled at the sight, expecting to not cry.

Then, the sadness struck her again as she recalled the vampire Gerard. Tears began rolling down her face; she quickly covered up her eyes while blood dripped down from her cut. She sunk her face into her legs, making the quietest sobbing noises. Strangers could've seen it as laughing; her body hysterically trembled, but other than the occasional sniffle, there was barely any sound coming from her.

 _I look so disgusting…_

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, someone hugged her from behind. She'd heard no footsteps, but the presence was so familiar…

" _I just wanted you to know… that the world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me…"_ A gentle singsong whisper came from the person as he wrapped his semi-transparent arms tighter around her body. A strange, cold tingle ran down her spine at the almost non-existent touch.

Helena turned around, to see hazel eyes devotedly staring into hers…

"Poison…?" She asked in disbelief. _No... I must be hallucinating... Poison's... dead!_

The phantom smiled at her. _"Oh, my lovely angel…"_ With barely observable hands, he stroked her face, caressing her in his arms. _"I am not so with you anymore… I'm just a ghost,"_ he seemed to read her mind. He winked at her, then leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss. _At least I can't hurt you anymore…_ As her face softened, his eyes glistened with sadness and regret. _So, I can't hurt you anymore,_ he repeated.

Helena was very confused, but for now, she'd rather not think about the horrifying event from five years ago. She should cherish and rejoice his presence, even _if_ he is only a hallucination, or a phantom. She buried her face into his ghostly body, whispering "I miss you." Her voice cracked from a mixture of joy and sorrow, and hot tears started uncontrollably rolling down her face.

A bit of warmth radiated off his eerie presence as he lifted her up into the air (for a second, Helena was struck with awe as she thought she was flying), and strolled away towards the living room, cautiously avoiding the bottles alcohol and sighing disapprovingly. As he arrived at the sofa, Gerard carefully sat down, as Helena searched for the perfect, warmest and coziest spot against his chest, then snuggled her face into his body. He, with a slight frown, grinned down at her as he cuddled her face, while her tears seeped into his body. He leaned his cheeks against the top of her head, and closed his eyes, breathing in her wonderful scent.

" _I wanted you to know… I'm thinking of you, every night, every day…"_ he cooed into her ears.

He raised her slit wrists, and tenderly ran his lips along her arm, carefully kissing each scar. _"Stop your crying, helpless feeling; dry your eyes and start believing! There's one thing they'll never taking from you."_ He then wiped off the tears streaming down her face, and she looked up, staring at him with a hurt smile. He bent down and brushed his cheeks against hers, tightly grasping her fragile body.

They stayed there for a while, before Gerard set her down onto the sofa, then jolted up to remove all the bottles on the floor. After stashing the bottles in a faraway place, he slid back to Helena's side. "Hand in mine," Gerard instructed. Taking the ghostly hand of her lover, she stood up, and Gerard led her to the cleared wooden floor. "I might be a bit rusty," Helena told him as she braced herself into position by clutching Gerard's black uniform.

The two, one alive and one ghost, gracefully glided across the makeshift dancefloor. "Since when did you learn how to dance?" Helena asked curiously as she twirled around.

"A ghost can still learn, can it not?" Gerard retorted jokingly. He bent down to kiss her lips…

Then, suddenly, he disappeared into thin air.

"Don't let me here! Don't leave me here! Don't walk away, and let me die in my house of wolves!"

" _We'll meet again, when both our cars collide."_


	15. Extra: 1

**NOTE: This would probably take place around chapters 8 and 9.** **I wrote this recently (10/15/2017), for no reason at all. (I mean, I** _ **did**_ **finish this fanfiction a few months ago.) I couldn't figure out a way to fit this into the original story, so... here ya go. Enjoy. :)**

(Also, just if you're wondering: The victim is now "The Victim" because I feel like it's more organized that way... if that makes any sense.)

* * *

For a moment there was only silent weeping, as his blood-soaked fingers covered his face. Then he slipped downwards, submerging his head into the lukewarm water. As the dried blood streaks on his face melted into the murky liquid, bubbles rose up, and broke through the surface. The Victim counted the seconds. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven… Eight. Nine. Ten… Eleven. Twelve…_

Abruptly, Gerard's head shot out of the water. With his eyes shut tight as if to squeeze his misery away, he took in a gasp of air…

Then, he let go. He didn't care anymore.

And as crystal tears cascaded down his face, he broke into a mad, hysterical laughter. As the tears trickled down, they combined and darkened from the sticky blood, dust and grime that coated his sickly, greyish skin. "D-do you know what it f-feel like to be s-separated from the person you love the most? T-to watch her _die_ in front of you!?" He choked out each word, while practically _drowning_ in his own suffering.

"…I'm sorry…" The Victim spluttered, only to soon stare in dismay at Gerard's dreaded wailing.

" _Ha, ha-ha,_ you are! _Of course_ , you're _not_ a robot, a servant of _them_! _Of course,_ a _machine_ like _you_ can generate emotions, _of course_ you can feel grief and sympathy!" Gerard spat, his eyes gleaming with hatred and sorrow. His voice cracked, and his tear-brimmed eyes clouded even more.

The Victim held nothing but dead silence. For quite a while, Gerard's hideous sobbing echoed through the musty room. The Victim did not bother to count the time; all he cared about was how his captor was gathering all his emotions, and turning that cocktail into something catastrophic.

"I HATE YOU!"

All his emotions erupted, as if he were a dead volcano that suddenly woke up again. Spewing flames and scorching lava everywhere, burning every piece of misery that lay in its path. If the Victim weren't in chains, and if Gerard hadn't tortured the poor man, then perhaps the former Draculoid would've bent down and tried to comfort the shattered _thing_ in the bathtub.

"I-I hate you for _everything_ you've done, _everything_ you've done to ruin my life, _every_ atrocity and crime you've ever committed against my precious Helena, EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER DONE AGAINST ME!" He was now violently hyperventilating, panting for air. Yet, somehow, he was still snarling at the victim.

"Have _you_ ever had to watch _your_ lover churn and writhe, to hear her scream in pain and terror and despair? To ultimately see her body become nothing but a _twisted shell_!? SHE WAS _INNOCENT_! _THEY WERE_ ALL _INNOCENT!_ " His voice was filled with pure, raw, bitter agony. An ocean of tears _spilled_ out like a tsunami over a defenseless city, pouring down his face and through the cold, heartbroken air, mingling with the red mixture already inside the bathtub.

"I WISH YOU COULD DIE, I WISH YOU COULD _ALL_ DIE AND GO TO _FUCKING_ HELL! I WISH THIS FUCKED UP TYRANNY OF YOURS HAD NEVER EXISTED, I WISH MY EVERY SINGLE FUCKING WISH COULD BECOME FUCKING REALITY! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU'VE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME!? FIRST MY FAMILY, THEN MY FRIENDS, AND NOW, HELENA TOO?"

The Victim could feel his captor's tremendous sense of anguish; it was eternal, never-ending, itching at his soul, somehow gnawing away at his disconnected heart.

Gerard bawled. He couldn't stop bawling. His entire body was uncontrollably trembling now. Water splattering everywhere; onto the floor, onto the blood-stained walls, onto everything.

"It's all because of _you_ ," he pointed accusingly. "You and your pitiful _friends_." His voice came out as an unsteady, hoarse whisper. He was an emotional wreck, an unrestrained wreck, rotting away at the insides.

"She was beautiful. She was an angel. She was _my_ angel! And you took her away from me! You took every person I ever cared about away from me!" He pounded his chest, as if to physically express his internal pain.

The Victim gave no response. He didn't know how to, he didn't know what to do.

Suddenly Gerard turned away from the Victim, and stared at the ceiling.

"As le-lead rains, we'll p-pass on th-through,

Our ph-phantoms,

Forever, forever;

L-like sc-scarecr-crows, that f-fuel this f-flame,

W-we're b-burning,

Forever, a-and ever;"

His voice was unusually sweet, like a father humming a gorgeous lullaby to his child. Blubbering, Gerard continued.

"Kn-know h-how much I-I want t-to show y-you, you're th-the on-only one,"

Though Gerard was crying no more, as with that shuddering, distorted voice and occasional sniffle, the Victim expected tears to return very soon.

"Li-k-ke a b-bed of r-roses, there's a-a d-d-dozen r-reas-sons i-in this-"

And they did. As Gerard sang the word "gun", his voice caught itself, and he broke down once more. Between muted whimpers and aggressive sniffles, Gerard's voice trudged on.

"A-and as we're f-falling d-down, a-and in th-this p-pool of b-blood…

And as we're t-touching h-hands, and a-as we're f-falling down!

And i-in th-this pool of b-blood, and a-as we're falling d-down!"

His voice gurgled from phlegm rising up his throat. But in an urgent gulp of air, Gerard seemed to have swallowed the bile back to its rightful place.

He could not sing anymore. Cupping water into his hands, Gerard washed away the trails of drying tears on his eyes, only to whimper even more, until deafening screams lashed out from his mouth, shattering what little remained of the Victim's ease. Cringing, the chained man slunk backwards, trying to stay as far away as possible. He wanted to give the vampire his support, but then, considering just how insane and unpredictable the thing was, he thought he'd rather not get so close.

It remained like this for a while- just Gerard crying, and the Victim watching. Gerard had his face buried in his hands as his shoulders shook. His dirty black hair swished around as he once more submerged himself into the water. The Victim observed his captor- how sickly pale he was, and how emotionally ill he had become.

For a moment, he felt guilty. Even though he had not directly caused Gerard's and his lover's suffering, he still felt guilty. He had served _them_ once, and nothing could change that awful history.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Neither knew how much time passed before Gerard finally calmed down a little. The frequency of his sobs slid near zero times per minute. His breathing became quieter, mellower- although a slight edge still remained. Gently leaning against the side of the bathtub, the gorgeous vampire stroked the surface of the shallow water (there was now a reflecting pool of considerable size that surrounded the feet of the bathtub), almost as if he were soothing his lover. Then, he petted the droplets on his forearms, smoothly wiping them off, letting them fall down like tears and create tiny ripples on the stilling bathtub water.

"I loved her." He croaked, a sniffle afterward.

"I know." The Victim could see he was trying hard not to lose it again, to snap like he had done multiple times today. Gerard's eyes remained open, despite the nagging urge of his brain.

"I still love her." Staring at the water, Gerard game himself a small but mesmerizing smile, although that mesmerizing smile soon morphed into a miserable frown and a trembling of lips.

Until today, the Victim never knew of the gaping hole in Gerard's heart- the hole that was constantly expanding, constantly tormenting his captor.

Perhaps the Victim's own torture was insignificant now.


	16. Extra: 2

Another bathtub scene.

* * *

A mixture of water, dirt, tears and blood dripped down from the tips of his hair, and splattered into the bathtub. Strangely, they drummed with a steady rhythm. _Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop._

Basking in the lukewarm water, his naked body was gorgeous. If the Victim were a female, if Gerard's diet did not consist of mainly human blood, and if the Victim was not Gerard's primary means of playful torture, then The Victim may have even loved him.

Groaning, The Victim leaned back, and fell into his wooden chair. The remaining joints in his body ached, his muscles terribly sore, his eyes burning with fatigue. Pain shot through every nerve. The thick chains in which he was bound to swished and clanked together. The air was damp and dense. The splinters of the wood dug and scraped at his already bruised skin.

At least Gerard had offered him a chair... After hours of suffering, fake and glaring smiles, resistance, screaming, and cackles of amusement. Rubbing his remaining eye with a weak and trembling thumb (therefore smudging his eyelids with the drying blood on his cracked and ashening fingernail), the Victim continued to observe his captor.

There was another moment of silence, where the Victim could literally hear the clock loudly tick. It was an uncomfortable silence, but the two were used to discomfort.

He spoke up.

"She was so pure..." Those words were so softly spoken; to The Victim, that mellow voice almost seemed strange. He had never heard Gerard talk like that- in this context, at least.

Gerard sighed, diving into those still-fresh memories. It was as if their first kiss happened yesterday. A hand slid its way up to his cheekbone (water dripping down in the process), then to that place where her lips had initially landed. He ran his thumb there, rubbing faint circles, tracing a vague outline. With great pain, he recalled that her lips had been warm and delicate. Now, no matter how hard he tried to feel, to relive that memory, all that came with each attempt was an unsettling, melancholy unease.

His lips brushed together, trying to revive the taste of her tongue. _Helena..._ He drew in a silent but quivering breath, almost mouthing out her name in a strange way. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. She was a goddess. He would spark a battle for her. He would wage war against every other living thing if she asked him to...

"We both were pure in the beginning, I guess." He released a slight chuckle, though it was suppressed soon after.

"But that virgin purity was contaminated too soon. Plagued by war, plagued by the deaths of too many." His tone became serious now, back to its crushing, menacing heaviness. Oh, how much he wished this was all just a delusion, a nightmare, and not a miserable trick played by fate.

"We were both too naïve."

And who was to blame? Those Draculoids, or whomever designed his destiny? For now, the only ones he could credit fault to would be those damned Draculoids. He was so useless, so powerless- too miniscule of a being to go against the god or deity that planned out all his decisions, and all decisions of others.

Perhaps a bit tragically, too long ago had he lost faith in the Phoenix Witch, and too long ago had he realized that prayers were no use.

He hated it. It was an absolute hatred, a hatred of passionate, burning fire. Just like a match, striking to incinerate. Slowly bursting ablaze inside his heart, slowly killing him alive, like a ticking bomb.

But for now, he was still breathing, his heart and vital organs still functioning. (Or malfunctioning. He threw up often.) And though he had an ever-growing despise towards himself and how much he has swayed from his anti-violence ways, he did not want to die yet. Not until he had his revenge.

He turned to The Victim, staring wide-eyed into _its_ empty eye socket. Those eerie yet lovely crimsons glimmered with something beautiful, but something jabbing at the same time. Both piercing eyes shone bright with raw, untamed misery.

Through Gerard's now-blurring windows, the Victim could see the countless slits on his heart. They were red, puffy, swelling- cut by all the bullet holes he had suffered. And the Victim knew those scars could not be sewn back together, as those gaping wounds were just too large to stitch.

Liquid brimmed his eyelids, spiraling up to and wetting his eyelashes. "She, she died in my arms... She-" his voice cracked, and as he recovered, he sucked in a deep breath of air. "She was crying..."

"What did I ever do to deserve this!? To endure watching her death, to endure holding her limp corpse, to endure losing her!? Tell me, you _fool_ , WHAT!?" He pounded his chest, loud and relentless, then at the bathtub.

"… I don't know."

"LIAR! YOU KNOW! STOP LYING TO ME!"

The water rippled around, spilling out over the rim. Droplets trickled down the outside of the tub; droplets trickled down his skin, his cheeks, his lips, his chin, his nose.

He was drenched in it- drenched, drowning, inside his own misery, inside his own self-loathing. As he cried, a twisted, evil smile grew on his face. His chest heaved as his lungs worked desperately for air. Harshly, that vile smile multiplied in size, until it was stretching ear to ear. He cackled. Smirking, snorting at his own foolishness, his own cruel, ill fate.

Between gasps of breath, he spewed out, "P-p-please, my pretty, d-don't lie to me."

The haunting laughter sent a shiver down the Victim's spine.


End file.
